


Got My Ticket

by Englandwouldfall



Series: Home [5]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Communication Issues, M/M, On-Again/Off-Again Relationship, Romance, detangling communication issues
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-07
Updated: 2019-09-09
Packaged: 2020-06-24 06:35:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 47,340
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19718179
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Englandwouldfall/pseuds/Englandwouldfall
Summary: Castiel needs to find a new coffee shop, among other things.





	1. Chapter 1

Dean Winchester is in a vaguely hipster coffee shop in Palo Alto, California, six paces away from Castiel.

Castiel has just finished a particular gruelling meeting with his supervisor about his masters thesis and the overwhelming reality of _how much work_ he has to do had driven him into his new favourite coffee shop, and _there_ is Dean Winchester.

_Dean Winchester_. 

He’s chatting up the barista with a truly _terrible_ line about his coffee not being hot enough, but in such a bolshy, charming way that it comes across as almost endearing. It’s not just Castiel, either ( and he knows himself well enough to know he will always be biased when it comes to _Dean_ ). The barista smiles and tucks a lock of hair behind her ear.

Castiel knows how that feels. Even if it’s been a while since he’s been subjected to it, he’s had his fair share of unfair brushes with the force of Dean-Winchester’s charm, and he has far too much added context to build up a resistance. For instance, he knows that behind that carefully calculated veneer of confidence is a chronic lack of self belief that allows the half-arrogance to _still_ be lovely. He knows, also, that this barista hasn’t a hope in hell of finding out about that; she’ll get a bright smile the morning after, maybe coffee, and none of the backstory that’s been years in the making. She won’t know about his inability to commit to anything, his tendency to self-destruct when he really _wants_ something, or the way he’ll stumble through the rare confessions of feelings like it involves peeling off his skin, unless she is very lucky, or very unlucky, depending on how you look at things.

Frankly, he’s not inclined to watch that unfold. He does not know _why_ Dean Winchester is hitting on women in his new hometown, but he is sure, very sure, that he can’t carry on watching him strike out.

“Make my order to go,” Castiel tells the other barista, the one who took his order a few moments before Dean reappeared to make his coffee gag, at the point of the order where it’s really too late to make those kinds of requests. He says it serious and deep enough that she just rolls her eyes without comment.

He was also apparently loud enough that Dean heard him.

Dean fumbles with his coffee enough to slosh some of down is plaid shirt when he whips around to look at him, blonde-barista satisfyingly forgotten, and then flushes deep from the neck upwards. Then, to Castiel’s complete surprise, he smiles.

“Holy, _Cas_ ,” Dean says, eyes scanning over his face, green, lovely. He looks exponentially better than Castiel last saw him, although that’s unlikely to be actually true. He’d just forgotten in the time-gap how truly breathtaking Dean Winchester actually was.

“Hello, Dean.” 

_Don’t you think I’ve given you enough_?

“Hey, can I pick up his order?” Dean asks, leaning over to the irritated barista, who’s already run up that he’s paying cash and was about to take his bill and hand him his change. 

“That’s unnecessary,” 

“Hey, buying you a coffee is the least I can do,” Dean says, pulling out his own wallet, as the poor woman refunds the transaction with gritted teeth. It’s very likely that they owe her a significant tip. “Drink it with me.” Castiel hesitates. “Come, man, prosperity's sake. You got it to go, so if turns out I’m still an asshole you can take off.” 

He says ‘still an asshole’ like he’s been carrying it round since they last met (or didn't meet, to be precise). It’s edged with self-loathing and sounds a lot like he might get an explanation that Castiel isn’t sure he wants. It’s been a long time since they were last involved, but it feels fresh with Dean standing right there. 

He has processed and filed away these feelings enough times to know how raking over old ground makes everything worse, _but_ \---

He does want to know _why_ Dean is in a coffee shop in Palo Alto, so far away from where Castiel had assumed he was. 

“Why should I have coffee with you?” Castiel asks, without blinking. The corner of Dean’s lips quirk upwards, which is infuriating and intriguing and much too familiar. Castiel narrows his eyes. Dean rearranges his expression back into serious. 

“Because...” Dean says, “Because I live like ten minutes away from here, Cas, and I - we're gonna run into each other.”

“You live here,” Castiel frowns. Dean _lives here_. “And…. you want to speak to me?”

“Just, to clear the air, Cas. I swear to god I was gonna leave it like you wanted me to, but if I'm gonna run into you in the damn supermarket I figured, I dunno, that maybe you'd let me explain.”

“Explain,” Castiel repeats, stomach flipping over unpleasantly. This is the second time that Dean has offered to _explain_ , but the last was by text, months after everything had gone to hell (again). It’s harder to shut the concept down when he’s faced by Dean in the flesh.

“Cas. You have full permission to throw coffee at me anytime you want.”

Dean keeps _calling him Cas_. 

“I ordered a panini. You have until it's cooked.”

“I - okay. Can we, can we sit?”

“Okay,” Cas agrees, because he's been doomed for a long time, and because he doesn’t know what other option he has. 

Dean remembers that he spilt coffee down himself when he gets back to his table, flushing again as he dabs at his shirt like it's anything but a lost cause. Castiel is struck by a sudden, vivid memory of Dean between his legs, in those three days when it felt they were really together, flushed pink, grinning as he mouthed along the inside of his thigh. He'd forgotten about that. Forgotten how Dean has this grace mixed with fumbled eagerness; how Dean has always made him feel safe and wanted. The memory is not helpful. 

The leather jacket Sonny bought him for Christmas in his final year of high school is hung over the back of the seat, and he's got a Vonnegut book on the table that he hastily moves away, self conscious. The jacket was big on him in high school, but given how artfully he’s broadened out, Castiel finds it hard to believe it's not snug on him now. Sentiment. Dean, for all his bravado, had always been grossly sentimental.

And he is still infatuating. Obviously. Of course. He doesn't know how he thought otherwise, but there it is. He's tempted to text Gabriel. _I'm having coffee with Dean Winchester. He hasn't shaved in three days and he is still has the capacity to ruin my life._ Gabriel would know how to put it into perspective. He would make him laugh. Highlight how ridiculous his continued preoccupation is.

“I - honestly, was kind of hoping I'd run into you.” Dean asks, absently wiping coffee off the rim of his coffee cup with his thumb, gaze levelled exactly at him. Castiel’s stomach flips, and, right —- Dean declared that they were likely to run into each other. He was anticipating this. 

“You know that I live here?”

“Postgrad at Stanford like you decided, like, five years ago, right?”

“You remember that,” Castiel says, and maybe that’s some sentiment of his own seeping into his voice, because he doesn’t normally sound like that to his own ears.

“Thought I saw you when I was dropping Sam off for one of his lectures, then again when I was driving. Thought I was losing my goddamn mind, so I got thinking and then --- then I asked Charlie. Damn, man, I can't believe you're here right now.”

“It was a good plan.”

“Yeah,” Dean says.

“Sam’s at Stanford.”

“Right,” Dean says, picking up his coffee, not looking away. Castiel has been accused of having a staring problem before (and at least once by Dean), but he's certainly not the only participant in this. Dean's gaze is warm and soft and he would like to swim in it, but it's not helpful. Not helpful. Not constructive. 

He shouldn't have agreed to have coffee with him. 

“And… and you moved with him.”

“I, yeah,” Dean says, hesitates, “Kind of. Sammy’s been here a couple of months, I —- I’ve been here a couple of weeks. I live, like, two blocks that way,” Dean says, gesturing, “This is my local coffee joint.”

Castiel does not know what to say to that. He looks down, looks at his coffee, swallows.

“You probably shouldn't sleep with the barista you were attempting to flirt with then,” Castiel says, “It seems inconducive to remaining caffeinated.”

Dean's smile widens, his neck turning red again. 

Dean lives in the same city as him. Dean lives within a walkable distance of Castiel’s house share, if his vague gesturing is anything to go by. Dean is smiling at what could either be conceived as a joke or a barb from a jealous-third-party depending on how generous the interpreter is. 

This can’t happen again. Castiel can’t fall into this trap _again._

“My panini will —”

“Cas,” Dean says, “I’m —- I’m really sorry.”

“You are sorry,” Castiel repeats, not blinking as he looks at him. “That’s your explanation.”

“No,” Dean says, “it’s not. It’s… okay. Alright. Let’s do this. What do you want to know?”

“What do I want to know?” Castiel repeats.

“Cas,”

“Stop calling me that,” Castiel says, looking back at his coffee and digging his fingers into the paper cup of his coffee mug. “No one calls me _Cas_.”

“Okay,” Dean says, “Castiel.” 

As it turns out, that isn’t any better. 

“If you’re going to explain, you should _explain_.” Castiel says, even though he’s not sure he wants an explanation. He decided that it didn’t matter, but now Dean is in front of him, plaid-clad, stubbled, his magnetism pulling him in again.

It’s difficult, when Dean looks at him like that, to remind himself that Dean, ultimately, did not care enough to put in the work. Dean _gave_ up. He ducked commitment. He let Castiel believe something was happening, when it wasn’t. The first sign of him fighting for them came five months after the fact, when he sent him a half-hearted message suggesting he’d fly out to New Haven tomorrow to explain what had happened if Cas would hear him out. He turned him down then, but then he didn’t have Dean sat across a coffee table, with that old leather jacket. If Dean _had_ just turned up, it might have been different. It might have. 

He decided he didn’t want to know and now, here he is, pushing. 

Dean swallows. 

“Lisa,” 

“The woman you were with that day,” Cas says, levelly, as though he doesn’t care. He thinks he’s expecting Dean to shake his head, rolls his eyes, perhaps tell him that that’s him being paranoid. Correct him. 

“Yeah,” Dean says, instead.

It feels like someone has dropped an ice cube down the back of his neck, but inside his bloodstream: he sold himself a narrative, over the past year, that his assumption was wrong. Something else had been going on, because Dean was allergic to taking the plunge, a defeatist, emotional constipated and _so_ frustrating, but he was not a bad person. Castiel wasn't _wrong_ about Dean, it was just everything else that was wrong; the timing, the location, the situation. He told himself that Dean didn't fight him, much, because of something else. That when he said on the phone that it _wasn't a date_ that it wasn't a date. That something went wrong. That he may have been hiding from having that damnable conversation about his relationship, but not because of _someone else_.

And here Dean is telling him his worst assumptions were right.

He didn't need to know this and he needs to _leave_.

“Can I explain?” Dean asks, voice softer, leaning across the table, “ Cause I swear, Cas, I… Castiel. It’s not what you’re thinking right now. There was this whole _thing_ / and I didn't go into at the time, cause - my head was pretty much fucked by this, uh, unexpected news and I just couldn't - I didn't know how to explain it to you.”

“Fine”, Castiel says, heart hammering. Now Dean is here, and has teased him with this much information, he might as well hear the rest. If it hurts like he’s expecting it will, there’s a chance it will be cathartic. Seeing Dean here has proven he isn’t over it, anyway, and if Dean is _in Palo Alto_ then...

The blonde barista brings over the panini he ordered that he no longer wants, because any appetite he had has vanished. She brings it over with a scrap of paper with her number on for Dean, too, who doesn't even look at her as she leans into his personal space and tries to get her attention.

Castiel waits for her to leave. It takes too long. She dawdles, trying to catch Dean’s eye again.

“Where do you… where do you want me to start?”

“Who is she?”

“Yeah, okay, so I met her when I was road tripping. You... when you called me, about your dad, I was with her. Met her in some bar and she was pretty cool, so…”

“A one night stand,” Castiel supplies, simply, although that can’t be sufficient, because he _knows_ Dean has had casual sex. The number on the back of someone’s coffee bill is a clear indicator that Dean has casual sex. There is no reason why he would be cagey about _that_.

“Just _sex_.” Dean says. 

“But you kept in contact with her,” Cas says, meeting his gaze again, “Just as you kept in contact with me.”

“No,” Dean says, running a hand over his face. “No, I didn't. It was just you, honestly. You know that, man, you know _me_. She messaged me out of the blue. Forgotten I'd even given her my fucking number, saying she was in Lawrence asking if I wanted to meet for coffee. And I said no, cause we were… whatever we were, and I realized that I wanted to… to see if it could work. Put a label back on. So if shit like this came up, I could just _say_ , but she pretty much insisted and I figured it was just coffee. So I went. You called me when I was there and Gabe walked in and saw us having coffee.”

Castiel has a bad feeling about this. A kind of dread that's beginning to build in his stomach. A sickly, cloying fear.

“And she was - pregnant. I guess Gabriel missed _that_ cause she was sat down, but -”

Castiel’s stomach plummets. The jealousy is inexplicable, of course, but the shock is understandable; mixed with something acidic and unpleasant. 

“You’re a father,” Castiel says, and now he’s _really_ losing control over his emotions. The words don’t make much sense and neither do his feelings, but he… he doesn’t like the idea of Dean having a child with some woman, with Lisa, when Dean should have been _his_ the entire time. It’s unfair, and deplorable, but she has some part of Dean that he could never have and he hates her for it. She gets the trump card. She gets to _win_ and, of course she does, because - because _she should_. He’s angry at Dean, too, all of sudden, for being irresponsible enough to get some woman he was _having fun with_ pregnant and for telling him he loved him months afterwards, that he had been in love with him the next day, for his _shitty_ timing and the fact that he slept with her in the first place. If he wasn’t so _hedonistic_ or _careless_ or fucking wonderful then, maybe - “You have a child, with Lisa.”

Dean’s thumb lands on his wrist. He’s been staring at his coffee, on the edge of something, and Dean pulls him back from the mass of thoughts in his head with the smallest of touches. Damn him. 

“Hey,” Dean says, looking at him, seeing all of it, “No, I don't. He’s, Ben, he’s not mine. But at that point, it, Lisa was straight with me. She said I might not be, but the way the dates were working out she was pretty sure. Ninety five percent sure, she said.” 

“And that’s what she told you over coffee,” Castiel says, still brimming over with thoughts. Dean retracts his hand and Castiel regrets it, immensely, even if academically that’s what he wants. His skin wants the touch back, though, is itching with the desire to take his hand across the table. And he _can’t_ , because he’s angry and he’s confused and, and, and, “That was _the situation_.”

“Yeah,” Dean says, “Cas, uh, Castiel. You were telling me you were flying out to Lawrence when I walked into the coffee shop and saw her there, pregnant.”

“Oh,” Castiel says, mouth dry. That makes sense. It makes sense more than any theory he ever came up with. It explains why Dean rushed him off the phone. It explains the timber to his voice that Castiel hadn’t been able to identify. _Shock_. Fatherhood.

“Everything blew up in my face and —- Sam was so angry and, and… and I knew if I was going to get to move anywhere it had to be Indiana, and that that — we weren’t solid enough to take me having a freaking kid, and —- it was a lot, Cas. And she was saying she didn't expect anything from me, just wanted a DNA test when the kid was born, and …. She was still in Lawrence, and I thought, I mean, that she was family now, so she met Sam and Bobby and Sonny and they were all… I don’t know, man, not disappointed, but no one thought I could do it. _I_ didn’t think I could do it and with all of that I just… I totally forgot you’d fucking called me until Gabriel text me saying I was an asshole. I didn’t _mean_ to, I swear, I just…”

“There was a situation,” Cas says, his heart pounding, aching. 

“Exactly,” Dean says, “The timing was fucked again. There’s just no good way to tell your long distance not-boyfriend that you got someone pregnant approximately fourteen hours before you shacked up with them and it felt like, whatever I said, we were done.”

“When you text me,” Cas says, a lump rising in the back of his throat, “That was when you found out he wasn’t yours.”

“Yeah,” Dean says, “I, I knew it was a long shot, but I…”

“I see,” Cas says, looking down at his panini, mind swimming. Dean is… Not quite blameless, not quite absolved but, perhaps, justified. 

“Cas,” Dean says, voice soft, “Do you, I mean, I know I could’ve handled it better but - “ 

“That must have been a very difficult situation to process,” Cas says, “I’m… I’m deeply sorry we have such appalling timing.” 

“You and me both, Cas,” Dean says, and then he smiles again. It’s a less solid one, less secure, but it’s there. It takes a few moments to realise he’s smiling too; he hadn't realised he was happy, but he supposes he is. Overwhelmed and confused and frustrated, but _he wasn’t_ wrong about Dean after all. “You should’ve got the bacon panini,” Dean says, nodding at the food he’s only picked at. “Best one.”

“I’m a vegetarian now,”

Dean falters, slightly, in a way that pulls at the corners of Castiel’s lips a little more.

“What, seriously?”

“No,” Cas says, “I just, I remember your aversion to the concept, so I was…”

“Teasing me,” Dean says, leaning a little closer over the table, elbow now on the barista’s number. The symbolism brings him a keen sense of satisfaction that he wishes wasn’t there, because it’s embarrassing how petty he can be when it comes to Dean and a woman he’s now too distracted to hit on. “Good to know you’re still a dork,”

“Is Sam living with you?”

“No,” Dean says, “He, uh, wanted the whole authentic college experience and he got a full ride, so he’s shacked up with the roommate from hell and eyeing up my spare bedroom. He’s doing good though.”

“And what are you doing?”

“I’m, uh,” Dean begins, then his gaze catches on his watch, “Sonuva - I’m really late. Meeting Sam’s girlfriend, but I -” 

“Don’t forget the number lodged under your elbow,” Castiel says, smiling slightly, as Dean fumbles to pull on his jacket. 

“I’d rather have yours,” Dean says, then his smile falters, “If you… I mean, if you want.”

The fact that Dean had taken his instruction to delete his number at face value causes a jerk in his navel that makes the decision for him. It’s bitter regret and self-loathing and a very strong desire to go back in time, tell Dean to come to New Haven immediately, and to buy back missed time. Castiel still has feelings for him; very complicated, very confusing, tangled up feelings, but they exist. Dean doesn’t have a child. He doesn’t have a _Lisa_. 

Castiel pulls a pen out of his bag and carefully crosses out the number scribbled on the slip of paper and replaces it with his own.

“When you program it into your phone,” Castiel says, pushing it to his side of the table, “It’s _Castiel_ not _Annabella_.” 

Dean huffs a laugh and nods, the number slipped between the pages of his book, and he’s started towards the door before he stops and turns back towards him with his hands in his pockets. 

“Can…. can I take you for dinner?” Dean asks, “To finish catching up.”

Castiel rolls the thought around his head.

“Like a date,” Castiel says, deadpan.

“No,” Dean says, nervous, “Just, dinner. An apology. I — I never meant for it to go down like that. Dinner is scratching the freaking surface , but —“

He’s not sure it’s a good idea. Certainly, Gabriel would advise him against it, even after all the added context. He hasn’t really had time to process everything he’s learnt in the past thirty minutes. Hasn’t really gotten passed the fact that _Dean lives in the same city as him_. He definitely does not know the extent to which he’s still angry, or hurt, or what his overriding feeling about any of it is. He doesn’t know. 

“Yes,”

Dean smiles and it’s ridiculous how his stomach clenches in response. He is disgustingly attractive. It’s been about a year since they were last in the same room, but he looks much older. He is an _adult_ and there’s something _different_ about the way he is carrying himself and Castiel wants to work out what it is. 

“Okay, awesome. You free tonight?” 

The word _yes_ is on the tip of his tongue before his brain kicks in.

“No, I have a date,” Castiel says, brow furrowed. Dean’s smile broadens, but it isn’t particularly convincing. Castiel isn’t sure that he would have bothered trying to attempt it. “I — maybe this is a bad idea.”

“Maybe,” Dean says, “I’ll text you and arrange it, okay?” Dean says, gesturing at the book tucked under his arm with Castiel’s number in, “Enjoy your date, I --- it’s really good to see you, Castiel. You look good,” Dean says, with one final smile before he disappears. It’s clearly inaccurate, because Castiel has spent the day hiding in Stanford library to try and have something intelligent to bring to his thesis meeting; he can’t remember the last time he shaved and he knows that he has ink all over his shirt. Still, there’s something about Dean’s charming sincerity in his parting words that burrows underneath his skin and warms him from the inside out.

Obviously, his date is a disaster.

It’s a third date with a second year medic who makes the mistake of asking why he’s distracted, which leads to a winding, in depth explanation of his past relationship with Dean Winchester that he knows is a mistake before he’s finished the ‘school days’ phase of the saga. It occurs to him relatively early on that he _doesn’t care_. His date is _nice enough_ , but Castiel doesn’t care if he never sees him again. 

After he gets back to his apartment, Castiel stares at his phone for thirty long minutes before he grits his teeth, pulls up Dean's number and sends _I’m free Friday night_. 

Dean replies four minutes later with a _guessing this is Castiel?_ which is frustrating both because it means Dean hadn’t saved his number yet, and because it means Castiel has inadvertently revealed that he never deleted Dean’s number in the first place.

And that he’s home from his date and thinking about _Dean_ at nine pm. 

_Friday sounds awesome. Pick you up at seven?_

_Yes._ Castiel types out, breathing deeply before typing out, _you can save this number as ‘Cas’_. 


	2. Chapter 2

The impala triggers an unreasonable amount of affection,considering that it is just a car ( _not_ that Castiel would use those words in front of Dean). There’s something about it’s quintessential _Dean-ness_ that’s incredibly endearing and attractive, even four years after their relationship ended.

And now, Dean Winchester is parked outside of his apartment block for their _apology dinner_.

“Hey, Cas,” Dean says with the windows rolled down. 

“I’ve missed this car,” Castiel says, stopping short of the impala’s sleek black frame to run a hand over the hood. He’s relatively sure that he’s telling the truth, because his feelings about the impala have always been much easier to dissect than his feelings about Dean. The jury is still out on the latter.

“Quit being so damn perfect and get it the car, dude.”

“Hello, Dean,” Castiel says as he slides into the passenger seat to look at _Dean_. He’s freshly showered and wearing a leather jacket which actually fits, which stirs some warm, syrupy affection in Castiel’s stomach because it means he kept the jacket from Sonny just because Sonny bought it for him. He’s clean shaven and _fucking_ gorgeous and ---

And Castiel needs to retain some degree of emotional distance from _this_.

He’s had enough time to consider what his reaction would be if he found out one of his one night stands was pregnant and to begin to process the fact that Dean lives closer to him that he has ever done previously. This time last year, _that_ would have been a source of utter relief, but now… it complicates things. 

Castiel is over Dean Winchester.

Or, he had come to terms that Dean didn’t have the capacity to be what Castiel needed, and that continuing to have feelings for him was futile, and that it was very unlikely that he’d ever understand what the hell was going through Dean’s head. He’d _accepted_ the fact that the concept of Dean would probably always have some hold over him, and accepted that he made all Dean related decisions through a lense of stupidity, and that they were not going to have a happy ending. It had taken some time, but it didn’t break him in the same way it had the first time. 

He is _over_ Dean Winchester. 

“Where are we going?”

“That italian place fifteen minutes outside the Stanford campus, that kind of way,” Dean gestures vaguely. “Pizza and pasta and that crap.”

“I had forgotten how eloquent you are.”

“You think it’s adorable,” Dean throws back easily, catching his eyes in the rearview mirror. He is not wrong.

“The place on sixth?”

“Uh, yeah,” Dean says, “Nice coat, by the way.”

“It’s new,” Castiel deadpans.

“Trench coat two point oh.”

“This is actually the third iteration,” Castiel says, “The second met its death at a second year halloween party at Yale. Meg borrowed it to dress as a _creepy stalker tax accountant_ and threw up on it.”

“I don’t even know what the hell to say to that.”

“That place is a _nice_ restaurant, Dean.” 

“Is it?” Dean says, his gaze suddenly fixed on the road. 

“Dean,” Castiel says, “This feels much more like a date that an apology dinner.”

Dean clenches his jaw.

“I didn't mean it like that,” he says, turning to face him head on. “Look, if you don't wanna go - I get that, but the tables booked, so if you wanna take your roommate or your friend or your… Your boyfriend, girlfriend, whatever. I can pick up the cheque.”

That would certainly be _easier_ , but now he is curious. 

“No,” Castiel says, “It's fine.”

“Okay,” Dean says, “So, uh. I - I have something for you.”

“You have something for me?”

“Glove box,” Dean says, hand tightening on the steering wheel. Castiel frowns as he opens it, catching one of Dean’s cassette tapes as it tumbles out (he recognises it as one of the tapes Dean had when he was seventeen; Castiel distinctly remembers Dean putting it on as background music for them making out in one of Sonny’s fields), fingers settling on… _something_.

“Merry Christmas,” Dean says, as Castiel traces the corners of what looks a lot like a book, concealed in gold metallic paper. “Said I’d give this to you the next time I saw you, so…”

He’d forgotten about that. In everything that he’d lost in January, his _Christmas present_ hadn’t come into the equation. He remembers Dean being excited about giving it to him and how despondent he’d sounded when he’d offered to send it to connecticut in the post, but the idea that Dean had _kept it_ and moved it to California makes his stomach feel like it has been dropped from a great height.

“I threw yours away,” Castiel says, bluntly.

Dean huffs a laugh and sends him a smile that’s unreasonably charming given the context. Dean can definitely still make him _feel things_ , even if Castiel no longer has feelings for him. He has plenty of feelings _about him_ , but they’re not for Dean.

“Can’t say I didn’t deserve it,” Dean says, “You should’ve burned it.”

“That was Kelly’s suggestion,” Castiel says, “You _kept_ this and took it to California before you knew I would be here?” Castiel asks, grip too tight on his gift. 

A tense, loaded silence falls between them for just long enough that Castiel starts to regret asking.

“I, uh, totally fucking inappropriate, I know, given we just went over the _not date_ thing, but...” Dean says, “I’m, uh, not really at the point where I'm over you yet. I also have --- this,” Dean says, leaning under his seat before pulling out _Castiel's travel mug._

Castiel stares at him.

“You're not over me?”

Dean is very rarely open about his feelings.

Particularly in the beginning of their long distance not-relationship, getting Dean to commit to voicing any kind of feelings about anything was like pulling teeth. Dean Winchester does not openly declare feelings after a year of distance. He _makes jokes_ and _changes the subject_.

Anyway, Dean…. Dean isn’t supposed to have feelings for him. Dean isn’t supposed to be _not_ over him. He’d half assumed that Dean was happily uncommitted with a string of one night stands (whenever he imagined it, he always assumed they would be woman), and in bad moment assumed that he was in a serious relationship with the mystery woman who turned out to be Lisa. There was never a consideration that Dean missed him.

Dean isn’t _over him_. 

“No,” Dean says, skin a little flushed as he looks at the road with distinct concentration. “I'm - not all that sure it's possible, but that's… that's my problem and not the point of the delayed gift giving.”

_They do not get a happy ending_.

“Which is?” Castiel asks.

“Festive good cheer and all that bullcrap.”

“It’s November.”

“Then I’m a couple of months early.”

“You’re eleven months late.”

“Huh. I figured I was about three years late to the party,” Dean says, with one of his almost-smiles, “I’ll take eleven months.” 

“Dean,”

“Actually, scratch that,” Dean says, “Not gonna claim all the credit for that shit show. The first go round was never going to work. We were too young.”

“You think last time it _might_ have worked?” Castiel asks, gaze dropping to look at his gift. He runs a thumb over the corners and tries not to allow his heart rate to pick up.

“I,” Dean begins, “No, I don’t. Of all the crap I got wrong, I don’t think I was wrong about that.” 

The words feel heavy. Castiel didn’t think he still had feelings left to feel about this, but Dean has always had the ability to dredge up old emotions and complicate them and confuse them.

Dean isn’t over him, but he does not think they have the capacity to work.

_Nothing has changed_.

“Because of the timing,” Castiel says, shoulders squared as he looks out the window.

“No,” Dean says, “Although, yeah, that --- that was a goddamn bitch. No, I mean, because of my internal, I don’t know, crap. Cas. Castiel,” Dean says, “Yeah, I’m fucking sorry that I got that call from Lisa at that exact moment and I’m sorry I didn’t tell you what the hell was going on, but more than that I’m sorry that I…. that all that my issues are a psychology student’s wet dream and that you had to deal with them cause you had the crappy idea of falling for my sorry ass.” 

“I don’t regret falling for you,” Castiel says, which is true. He _has_ regretted it at various different painful points in his life, but not overall. 

“Huh,”

“Obviously, there are elements of our relationships that I regret,” Castiel says, “But… getting over you the first time was fundamental in me learning about myself,” Castiel says, “And the second time bought a lot of the realities of my relationships and my flaws into focus.”

It occurs to him seconds after the words left his mouth that he has just suggested that Dean’s ongoing feelings aren’t reciprocated. Despite it being _true_ , it stings in the back of Castiel’s throat as he looks back at his damnable Christmas present.

Dean is _infuriating_ and _impossible_ and, what does he want him from? To be so overcome with gratitude over a fucking Christmas present that he forgets the past three attempts at trying to be together? That if he claims ownership over the total explosion of their last relationship, that Castiel will thank him? 

He should not feel guilt for inadvertently telling Dean that he is over him.

He _will not_ feel guilty.

He is _over Dean fucking Winchester_.

“So, uh, you’ve been to this place before?” Dean says into the tense silence that Castiel definitely caused. He is the very picture of _unperturbed_ by Castiel’s inner turmoil, which is more annoying for no real reason. He appears to be less concerned by Castiel declaring that he’s over him than _Castiel_ is. 

“Yes,” Castiel says, curtly, “On a date.”

“Right,” Dean says, “Uh. The food any good?”

“Yes,” Castiel says, “And expensive.”

“Well,” Dean says, “Figured I owed you a quite an apology.” 

“A lasagne seems insufficient.” 

“So,” Dean says, “You’re pissed at me. Look, Cas, I’m --- I really am fucking sorry. I swear to god, that I -”

“Buy me dinner first,” Castiel interrupts, blinking at his damn christmas present and stewing in silence for the rest of the drive.

*

The restaurant _is_ nice, and Castiel is relatively sure that he is the only person in the establishment who is being bought an apology. It’s probably one of the nicest places that they’ve ever had dinner together (with the probable exception of the restaurant they ate at when Castiel visited during their non-distance not-relationship), and Castiel isn’t entirely sure how he should feel about that. 

Dean looks much too appealing in the dim restaurant lighting, and he is endearingly unsure of himself as he scans the menu, and ---

He is trying.

He is clearly _trying_. 

“You wanted to catch up,” Castiel says, after Dean has upgraded Castiel’s order of a glass of wine to an entire bottle with two glasses and they have both ordered the meatballs, “So that if we run into each other in the supermarket we can be civil to each other.”

“Yeah,” Dean says, the corners of his lips softening, “If you’re okay with that. You wanna yell at me instead, I get that.”

“Perhaps after dinner,” Castiel says, reaching for his glass of wine to try and coax the residual tension out of his muscles. He wants to _relax_ , but not enough for him to fall into the familiar Dean Winchester trap. He wants to find out what exactly has led Dean to be _here_ , without becoming too excited about the concept of him being close. “It seems a shame to waste a perfectly good meal.” 

“Okay,” Dean says, looking at him with that soft gaze that looks even more enthralling in dim restaurant lighting. “So, you’re here. Thought you were staying at Yale?”

“If this is you trying to make a point that you didn’t stalk me to California, I didn’t doubt it.” 

“This is me asking _what changed_ jackass.”

“Should you really be calling me a jackass during my apology?” 

“Alright,” Dean shrugs, “Whatever you want, your royal highness.” 

“I suppose I should have expected that,” Castiel says, “It became apparent that my life at Yale was slipping through my fingers, and trying to hold onto it would have made it harder to process. I had intended to move in with Meg and Kelly, but — Kelly is in Washington, Hannah is in Denver, Mick is in England.”

“Meg?”

“Meg is ... somewhere,” Castiel says, “And —- after his heart attack, Inias had to take some time off work which ultimately resulted in him deciding to take an early retirement.”

“Is he--- okay?”

“Yes,” Castiel says, “He’s fine, he just simply realised that _not working_ was much more enjoyable than working. Hester requested a transfer, and they sold up and moved to LA.”

“To be near Anna?”

“Yes,” Castiel says, “She’s doing very well. She’s getting married in the spring.”

“To that guy you met for the first time last Christmas?”

“Yes,” Castiel says, “They’ve known each other for a long time, as it turns out. They were friends for a long time before they got together.” 

“And Gabriel?”

“Gabriel is in LA too,” Castiel says, “Both because he doesn’t have the money to move out of Inias and Hester’s house, and because he hasn’t used any of the last four years to learn how to cook anything but desserts and would miss Hester’s cooking.”

“Says the dude who can’t even cook _pancakes_.”

“I can cook pancakes,” Castiel says, “You simply _distracted me_.”

“Uh, no freaking way are you blaming me for _that_.”

“You kissed me,”

“You kissed me first,” Dean says, petulant and _adorable_ as he picks up his wine glass.

“When, exactly, are you referring to?” Castiel asks.

“The morning you burnt the damn pancakes, and in _Yale_ period.”

“You said that you drove eight hundred miles three years after our relationship because you used to love me. What was I supposed to do?”

“Aren’t you Mr Debate Club? Saying I said something that ‘made you’ kiss me is a bullshit argument. _You_ acted. Your damn fault.”

“So you are saying that even if you specifically _asked me_ to kiss you, you would not consider that to be owning any responsibility for it?”

“First things first, smart ass, what I said wasn’t _asking_ you to kiss me. Second of all, _no_. Even if I outright asked you to, that’d still be on you.”

“You don’t believe you’d bear any responsibility?”

“No,” Dean says, “And you know why,” Dean says, leaning slightly over the table and meeting his gaze. “Kiss me, Cas.”

Castiel’s heart stops, momentarily, before the context catches up with him.

“See,” Dean says, “That right fucking there --- free will.” 

“Let’s talk some more about free will,” Castiel says, folding his hands together.

“No goddamn way,” Dean says, “Sam’s already driving me fucking crazy with his _intro to philosophy_ bullcrap. I’m not getting into it with you too.”

Castiel takes another sip of wine and attempts to steer the back onto safe ground.

_Catching up. Civility._. 

“I assume Sam is enjoying Stanford?”

“Like a drifter on Valentine’s day,” Dean says, then as Castiel’s frowns at him, “You know, unattached drifter Christmas.” 

“You are _ridiculous_.”

“The Jack Kedoracs of the world have needs too, Cas.”

“Don’t start that again,” Castiel says, smile pulling at the edges of his mouth, “I won’t spend any more of my life discussing terrible literature with you.”

“Is that a threat?” Dean grins, “But, yeah, Sam’s having the time of his goddamn life.”

“You said you moved a few months after him?” 

“Yeah,” Dean says, “We knew when he decided where he wanted to go that I was gonna come out here, but there was some stuff to square aware. Had to finish college and find a job and save some, so I flew out a couple of months after he settled.”

“The great Dean Winchester _flew?_ On a plane?”

“Yeah,” Dean says, “I - I’m not gonna lie to you, Cas, it wasn’t pretty.” 

“How did this happen?”

“Uh, logistics,” Dean says, “It just — fuck, it had to happen, and I figured I should face the fear or some bullshit. Obviously, I’m a goddamn idiot. Don’t face your fears, Cas, find a freaking way round them.”

“Did you read the book your brother bought you for Christmas?” Castiel smirks, leaning forward unconsciously. 

“Yeah, actually,” Dean says, “And then my freaking therapist referred me to some phobia guru, and the next thing I know I’m down a hundred bucks in freaking phobia busting sessions, Sam’s driving my car to California and I’ve booked a goddamn flight.”

“Did it help?”

“Yeah,” Dean says, “I mean, the talking it out rationalize your fear crap got me onto the plane, and as it turns out there’s not a lot of shit they can do once you’re in the air.”

“This is true,” Castiel says, tilting his head. He remembers too clearly how terrible Dean had looked at Kansas City airport because it tied in so acutely with him realising that his phobia of planes _wasn’t an excuse_. He can’t imagine how he would cope on an _actual_ flight. “How bad was it?”

“Had three double scotches before I boarded, starting having a goddamn panic attack the second we were in the air, and chucked up my freaking guts about two minutes after the seatbelt sign went off.” Dean says, a spark of humour in his voice, which had certainly never been there when Dean talked about this before. Castiel is relatively sure that he only heard Dean acknowledge that what he has was ‘panic attacks’ once before. He has never been so nonchalant about referencing them. “Fucking _awful,_ Cas, and then I land and I’m shaking so damn bad that I can’t even drive my own damn car —- my _baby_ that I haven’t seen for three freaking months —”

“You let Sam take your car for three months?”

“Hell knows what I was thinking. Had some idea that Sam could do his own coming of age road trip bullcrap. Whatever. Never letting it out of my sight again,” Dean says, waving this away, “And Sam, freaking douchebag, takes a goddamn picture of me trying not to puke waiting for my crap to come out of the hold and sends it to the whole family whatsapp. _I bring the kid up_ and we’re apart for the longest we’ve ever been in our whole damn life, and his first act is to send this mugshot to every damn person I know.”

“I think I need to see this photograph.”

“Guess that’s one way to make sure you know this ain’t a date,” Dean says, pulling out his phone and unlocking it, “Uh — here you go.”

“You’re wearing sweatpants,” Castiel says, before he can stop himself from speaking. He’s not sure that he’s ever seen Dean in anything but jeans before, and the observation has slipped out of his mouth before he’s had a chance to control himself. 

“Uh, yeah,” Dean says, “Part of the phobia busting crap. They said to _remove all discomfort you have control of out of your situation,_ aka, wear comfy shit. Load of bullcrap, but _damn_ they’re comfortable.”

“They look good on you,” Castiel says, before he feels Dean’s gaze on his skin, “Obviously in this picture you look terrible, but —”

“ - you checking out my freaking ass, Cas?”

“Well, I’m intimately acquainted with it.”

“Dude, probably best not to discuss your intimate acquaintance with my ass in this swanky freaking joint.”

“Is it more socially acceptable to discuss such matters in Biggersons?” 

“Fuck, I forget what a smart ass you are,” Dean smiles, beaming. Dean has always found Castiel’s particular brand of humour hilarious, and his smile has a warming effect on Castiel’s insides that should be probably set off several warning bells. 

“The point is, you do look the closet to unappealing I’ve ever seen you in this photograph, but I like the comfortwear,” Castiel says, setting the phone back down. “You finished your degree,”

“Uh, yeah,” Dean says, “Didn’t do the best but, fuck, not bad for a guy who nearly failed high school.”

“I wish you wouldn’t undermine yourself. That fact that your nearly failed school has nothing to do with your intelligence and everything to do with your circumstance,” Castiel says, “You’ve always been exceptionally bright and creative.”

“Thanks, Cas,” Dean says, “Anyway, I still had a couple of courses to do, and it seemed a helluva lot easier to stick it out rather than transfer, and I was in the middle of rebuilding this car, so…” 

Dean didn’t _rebuff the compliment_. He just accepted it with a smile. 

“Therapy,” Castiel says, picking up his glass of wine and watching him over it.

“Yep,” Dean says, faux casually as he folds his napkin over, “Not my idea of a good time, but —- I thought I had Ben.” 

“Ah,” Castiel says, because he doesn’t know how he feels about _that._ “I thought Sam was reluctant to allow you to follow him.”

“Yeah, well things got complicated and —-- in the end he asked me to come.” Dean continues, sitting up straight as the waiter arrives with their food. It’s only then that Castiel realises how close they had wound up sitting, and he internally scalds himself. 

Dean is quiet for a moment as he picks up his fork and starts on his food (which is _delicious_ ). “Pretty fucking ironic that I wound up getting exactly what I wanted.”

“You did order the meatballs, Dean.”

“No, uh. My dream scenario was you and Sam independently wanting to go the same damn college, and Sam wanting me to come with him. I, obviously, in dream land you wanted me here too, but…”

Castiel sets down his cutlery.

“That was your dream?”

“Yeah.” 

_Dangerous ground_.

“I was prepared to make a decision around you if you asked me to.”

“I know,” Dean says, his voice smaller than it has been all evening. That intimate, soft voice that Castiel has only ever heard directed his way. “And — I swear to god, I was about to , and then —”

“And then Lisa,” 

“Right,” Dean says, “And it just — you have no idea what the hell was going on in my head.”

“Kelly is in Washington because she had a baby,” Castiel says, “I called her the evening I ran into you at the coffee shop.”

“Before or after your date?”

“Before,” Castiel says, “And I asked her how her at the time boyfriend reacted when she told him. He left her before the baby was born, but I wasn’t aware of how that conversation had transpired. He left her on the spot. I can’t imagine that concept even crossing your mind.” 

“I -- it did. For about thirty seconds,” Dean says, “But,”

“You know what it’s like to have a deadbeat father.”

“Yeah,” Dean says, turning back to his food, then glancing back up. “Hey, what happened with _your_ Dad? You still pen pals?”

“Not as such,” Castiel says, “We met for coffee and we had a very healthy conversation in which I detailed the ways he had ruined my life and he sat there and stared at me. It was very cathartic. You once told me that sometimes people aren’t able to give you want you need, yet, and that you have to make a decision as to whether you can accept what they _can_ give you. It was very good advice.”

“Huh. Sounds it,” Dean says, “Didn’t know I’d ever been that smart.”

“Of course, I didn’t realise at the time that you were talking about _yourself_ ,” Castiel says, “But --- I have a tendency to invest in a relationship significantly beyond what that person can give back and --- Chuck is always going to be a terrible father, but he is not a terrible human, and I have learnt that as long as I don’t expect him to be a father, then I can still get something from our relationship. We’re in contact. He lives relatively nearby, as it happens.”

“Hey, that’s awesome,” Dean says, “Seriously, Cas.”

“He is now back in contact with Hester, and they are attempting to heal parts of their relationship,” Castiel says, “Which is excellent. She felt very guilty for a long time for telling my father that he would lose his relationship with me if he continued to isolate me, so I am glad that she has a chance to speak to him,” Castiel says, then frowns as he looks up and finds Dean looking at him. “Why are you smiling at me?”

“Sorry,” Dean says, shaking the expression away and picking up his fork again. Castiel frowns at him.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“Dean,” 

“It’s just, you look really good”, Dean says, “That _peach fuzz_ is just. Well.”

“Really,” Castiel says, “I prefer you clean shaven,”

“Good to know,” Dean says, with that warm look that sets them on exceptionally dangerous ground. And, really, Castiel is having a _very nice_ time. It is much too easy to fall into the rhythm of their back-and-forth, of Dean’s humour and Dean’s smiles, and hearing all these details of Dean’s life that feel like they could change everything. 

Dean flew on a plane. He went to therapy and finished his degree. He sent Sam off on a road trip with his car and a smile. Dean _is_ different. 

Perhaps. _Perhaps_. 

“I don’t have one,” Castiel blurts out.

“What?”

“You said --- that I could take my boyfriend or girlfriend on this dinner instead. I do have a roommate and friends, but I am not currently seeing anyone.”

“Okay,” Dean says, eyeing him carefully. 

“We’re _catching up_ ,” Castiel says, trying to regain some thread of the conversation, because clearly he has lost his mind (why does Dean do this to him?), “That is a detail about my life.”

“Uhuh,” Dean says, still fucking _looking at him_.

“What is --- where are you working?” Castiel asks, “What are you doing?” 

“I’m a ‘senior mechanic’ at this garage, whatever that means,” Dean says, “It’s pretty decent, though. My boss likes me. Wants to see if we can get it on the car restoration crap. Pay’s good.” Dean says, “And…. me neither, Cas.”

Given that Castiel is completely over Dean Winchester, and given how obvious Dean has made that anyway, it should not make Castiel as happy as it does.

_Damnit_.

*

Dean walks him to his front door to help Castiel negotiate carrying his travel mug, as yet unwrapped Christmas gift and the rest of their bottle of wine (Dean only drank one glass because he was driving; Castiel drank significantly more and can feel it making everything pleasantly easy). 

“Thanks, Cas,” Dean says, as Castiel opens the door with his spare hand and turns back to face him. “Honestly had the best freakin’ evening.”

And… Castiel is very happy. He is warm and full and their conversation was easy and uncomplicated. Dean makes him laugh and relishes in Castiel’s humour and bluntness. He looks at him like he is enthralling, with those green eyes and that exceptional jawline. He lives fifteen minutes down the road and he has been going to therapy. He is successful and accessible and right _there_ and ----

And maybe Castiel is over Dean Winchester, but he hasn’t had an evening this good for a very long time. He hasn’t felt so _relaxed_ and _accepted_ and understood since he left New Haven, and Dean is gorgeous and _not over him_. 

Castiel kisses him, and ---

And Dean just _let’s him_.

“Night, Cas,” Dean says, with one final, warm smile, and then he’s gone. 


	3. Chapter 3

Predictably, Castiel doesn’t sleep.

He gives up on the concept at five AM and decides to attempt to tackle planning out his master’s thesis (or, more pertinently, a concept of a concept of his master’s thesis) before he comes to the insatiable conclusion that work is _not going to happen_ until he is able to clear his head, because last night he _kissed Dean Winchester_ and Dean didn’t even have the decency to kiss him back properly. 

His housemate wakes up unreasonably early and insists on making a very loud breakfast, until Castiel can’t stand it anymore. He _kissed Dean_. Dean insisted that it wasn’t a date, but he gave him his damnable Christmas presents, and then ---

He needs some _space_ , and he needs to talk this through with someone who understands their many, _many_ layers of history. 

And… 

LA is just close enough to be viable, and just far away enough for the drive to feel cathartic. 

*

He feels calmer by the time he’s driven to Hester and Inais’ new home, even though he is no less clear about what he feels about anything. Before he left, he threw approximately sixteen textbooks into his backseat alongside his laptop and two nights worth of clothes and, inexplicably, his still-unwrapped-christmas-present so he’s set to stay for the rest of the weekend. He stopped halfway to eat an excessively large brunch and to let the know that he was on his way, but that they didn’t need to worry: Hester will anyway, because she loves him and he has learnt that is an incredible privilege that he needs to appreciate. 

The last time he drove to LA on a whim it was when the reality of his master’s workload hit him, and he spent thirty minutes declaring to Hester that he was doomed to fail before he disappeared into ‘his room’ and planned out his first two assignments. He stayed for one of Hester’s traditional Sunday dinners before driving home and feeling more more sane about everything. 

He’s hoping for more of the same, but Dean has always been much more complicated than academia. 

Gabriel steps outside to meet him before he gets to the doorway.

“Mom’s at the shops,” Gabriel says, “Buying all your favourite foods. Freaking liberty.”

“Good to see you too, Gabriel.”

“So, Cuz,” Gabriel says, after he has helped Castiel lug his belongings into the hall and supplied him with an incredible strong and incredibly sugary speciality coffee that does nothing to calm his nerves. “What’s troubling you?”

“I think,” Castiel says, evenly, “That I went on a date with Dean Winchester.”

Gabriel just _blinks_ at him.

“Dean Winchester,” Gabriel says, “As in, _the_ Dean Winchester, not some random guy who happens to also be called Dean Winchester? Well, fuck, I need more sugar for this.”

“Gabriel —” Castiel begins, as Gabriel stands up to jab at the coffee machine.

“— how? Isn’t he rotting in Kansas somewhere?”

“No,” Castiel says, “He lives in Palo Alto. Sam is attending Stanford. And, before you ask, the woman was pregnant which, Gabriel, for all your observations — how did you not notice that she was impregnated?” “Dean’s a dad? I - holy wow. Okay. This conversation is a doozie.”

“No,” Castiel says, “The baby wasn’t his. The woman was wrong. I — I ran into him in a coffee shop and he asked to explain and apologise and then he said… an apology dinner.”

“A date?”

“No,” Castiel says, “He specifically said _not_ a date, Gabriel, but then he picked me up in that damnable car.”

“Remind you too much of losing your virginity in the back seat?” “No, Gabriel, I did not lose my virginity in the back of Dean Winchester’s car, it was in my bedroom, and we only slept together in the back of his car once. Well, twice. Hello, Hester,” Castiel says, standing up to take some of the shopping bags. She waves him away and hugs him instead, resting her hands on his shoulders as she smiles. 

Hester is wonderful. He is endlessly lucky that he has her, and that she so willingly treats him as part of her family, and that even though he has never lived in this house, it is still _home_. 

“Hello Castiel,” Hester says, “Is there a reason we’re discussing your virginity?”

“Cassie went on a date with Dean, maybe, who thought he got some woman pregnant but didn’t and lives two blocks away. Continue. Dean said it wasn’t a date.”

“Yes”, Castiel says, “It was an apology, but — It was a very nice restaurant.”

“Well, he owed you quite some apology.”

“That’s what he said,” Castiel says, frowning. He runs his thumb over the rim of his coffee to give him time to gather his thoughts, because he doesn’t really know what to _say_ about any of this, because he doesn’t really know how he feels. “He had my Christmas present in his glove box, Castiel says, pained, “And I said it felt like a date.”

“So you flirted with him?”

“Gabriel, I don’t flirt.”

“Bullshit,” Gabriel says, “But, okay, fine, you did your intense squinting at him over a bottle of beer?”

“He bought wine.” 

“Dean bought wine?” Gabriel asks, “Wowza.”

“Gabriel you haven’t spoken to him in years, you don’t know his drinking habits,” Castiel says, “Although, yes, that was… unexpected.”

“What happened on your not date?” Hester asks, pulling up a seat and sitting opposite him.

“We talked.”

That is the frustrating thing, because nothing _happened_ , but it feels like it has changed his perception of everything. He had _fun_. It was easy and comfortable and Dean was lovely, and _different_.

“About?”

“Our lives,” Castiel says, “Movies I haven’t seen, my thesis.” 

“And then?”

This is the part he needs to discuss, because this is the part that kept him awake all night with shame and frustration and confusion. 

“And then I kissed him.”

“Aaaaand you slept together,” Gabriel supplies, which is an understandable conclusion. He can’t really remember the last time that they didn’t cloud their issues with sex, and Gabriel has been witness to most of those terrible decisions.

Castiel doesn’t really know whether he would have _let_ it happen if Dean had kissed him back and pulled him closer. He does not _know_ , and that is ---

Damned annoying.

It _is_ a good thing that they didn’t sleep together, because he is sure that he would have been more confused and more frustrated and more annoyed at everything (including Dean and himself). It’s a very good thing, but… _why didn’t Dean at least kiss him back?_

“No.”

“No?”

“No,” Castiel says, frustrated, “Gabriel, I kissed him and he _let me_.”

“He just… he _let you?_ What does that even mean?”

“It means that I _kissed him_ and he did nothing. He smiled and said _night Cas_ and then he left me on my doorstep and drove away in his damnable car and… I am deeply confused.”

“Didn’t you have a third date with that medic postgrad?”

“That’s done.”

“Why?”

“Because, Gabriel, I ran into Dean Winchester an hour before our third date and for reasons unbeknownst to me I decided to explain why I was distracted.”

“In detail?”

“Enough detail.”

“So he cost you getting laid twice over?”

“I already slept with the med student.”

“Before the third date?”

“Gabriel,” Castiel says, impatiently, “I am not a monk. You are fully aware that I occasionally have casual sex. This just had a date tagged onto it. It's not of import.”

“Castiel,” Hester says mildly, “I am glad that you're open with us, but there are some things an aunt doesn't need to know,” Then she looks at him, the corners of her eyes crinkling in sympathy. “Dean just let you kiss him?”

“Yes,” Castiel says.

“You sound disappointed.”

He’s not sure if ‘disappointed’ captures the breadth and depth of the emotion he feels about this.

“I am _confused,_ ” Castiel says, “He said that… He indicated that he still had feelings for me, and then he _brushed me off_.”

“Did you want him to _not_ brush you off ?”

“No,” Castiel says, “I don't need Dean's brand of emotional turmoil, I was just swept along in the moment, but…”

"But you want him to want you.”

“Yes,” Castiel says, “I think. And,” Castiel says, hopelessly, “It was a very nice dinner.”

“So,” Gabriel says, “You still have feelings for douchebag.”

“I have a number of feelings, I just don’t know what they _are,_ ” Castiel says, brow furrowed. “It felt finished before. I was _done,_ but now —”

“Are you attracted to him?” Hester asks, which is the easiest question that has been posed to him so far today.

“Obviously,” Castiel says, “He’s _Dean._ He looks better than ever and it is entirely maddening.”

“Are you angry at him?”

Castiel pauses to sift through his surface emotions to dig at what’s underneath. He laid down anger at Dean a long time ago, when he concluded that Dean didn’t have the capacity to give him what he needed, and truly never intended to hurt him. Dean let him down because he has chronic self esteem issues and is unable to prioritize what he wants, and because he he has trust issues and commitment issues. And, as it turns out, because he thought that we about to be a father.

Those things are _frustrating,_ but they are not necessarily Dean’s fault. He was _angry_ , though, at several points of their date and their coffee. The kind of anger that just tumbled our his mouth before he realised he was feeling it. 

“Probably,” Castiel says, “I _wanted_ him to kiss me.”

“Because you want to jump his bones, or because you want to go back there again?” Gabriel says, “I think both are a bad idea, just FYI.”

“He’s — different.” 

“You said that last time,” Gabriel says.

“That’s true,” Castiel says, glancing down at his hands. He did say that last time, and it was true last time. It just wasn’t true enough. Dean wasn’t different _enough_ for it to work, because he has trust issues and commitment issues and self esteem issues and abandonment issues. He _seems_... good this time. Happy. He’s always wanted Dean to be happy, it’s just that a lot of the time Castiel always wanted to be the reason for that happiness. 

“The first option is definitely appealing.”

“Alright. Casual sex.” 

“I don’t think Dean and I could ever manage anything close to casual.” 

“So far we’ve got, that you want him to want you, and sex,” Gabriel says, “How did he indicate that he still has feelings for you?”

“He said I am not over you’ when I asked him why he still has my Christmas present.”

“That’s quite an indication,” Gabriel says, eyebrow raised. “What did he get you for Christmas?” 

“I haven’t opened it.” 

“What?” Gabriel says, “Cassie.”

“It’s — it’s in my suitcase.” 

“Go go go go, bucko,” Gabriel says, slapping him on the shoulder. 

“He gave you this on your _not_ date?” Gabriel says, as Castiel returns with his gift. He thought about opening it whilst he was trying to sleep last night, but instead he just stared at it and remembered Dean calling from the shopping mall sounding excited and adorable about his damn christmas present.

Castiel started an argument, because he was hurting and impatient and wanted much, much more than Dean was offering. 

“With my travel mug.”

“Your travel mug?”

“I —- when Dean left my apartment last year, I sent him with a mug of coffee. He moved them both to _California._ ” 

“Creep.” 

“Gabriel.”

“I’m kidding. Mostly,” Gabriel says, “Open it, already. You’ve waited a year already.”

It — 

It is gorgeous and ridiculous. A deep brown leather notebook with _On The Road,_ blazoned across the front and —- and a fountain pen. It is _perfect_ and awful and more confusing than having Dean order a bottle of wine and smile at his jokes, because Dean bought this gesture when they were talking on the phone every day, texting, and trying to work out whether a future could work.

_This_ is the Dean who said that he was in love with him, but that love wasn’t enough to guarantee everything. The Dean who broke his heart for the second time bought this notebook and _kept it_. 

“Don’t you hate that book?” 

“Yes,” Castiel says, blinking, “It’s an in joke.”

“You have a note too,” Gabriel says, pushing it towards him from where it slid from between the pages, as Castiel holds the weight of the pen in his hands and feels _everything_ it is possible to feel. 

_Hey,_

_Turns out this thing is up itself enough to have page numbers, so here we go._

_88_

_6_

_37_

_Dean_

Dean wrote this note a long time ago, when everything was different. Except, Dean says that he is _still not over him_ and Castiel kissed him, so perhaps nothing is different at all. 

Gabriel has taken the book from him as Castiel read the note, and is now leaning over Castiel’s shoulder to read it, because Gabriel is incredibly irritating with terrible boundaries (as well as one of his best friends).

“Oh, hey, there’s Kedorac quotes on the top page. What’s the first one?”

“Gabriel, have you considered the fact that this could be private?” 

“Nope,” Gabriel says cheerfully. Hester leans in from her seat at the other end of the table and Castiel resigns himself to the fact that he surrendered his right to privacy the second he attempted to drive here “Page eighty eight,” Castiel says, watching as Gabriel flicks through the notebook. It is gorgeous, with cream, lined paper, and there is a strong part of him that wants to pull it out of Gabriel’s fingers less he gets sugary fingerprints over the pages. It is much, much too beautiful for him to consider actually _writing_ in it. 

“ _I had nothing to offer anybody except my own confusion,_ ” Gabriel reads, “Huh. Well, Dean may be dumb, but at least he can get that introspection stuff down.” 

“Page six,” Castiel deadpans. His heart rating is picking up, but he’s not sure why. These are quotes that Dean picked out a very long time ago. They are things that Castiel should have heard last Christmas, not anything that could be relevant to now. Too much has happened since then for the words to still have weight, and yet ---

“ _One day I will find the right words, and they will be simple._.”

Castiel blinks. It’s the same, non-committal Dean that he has come to be so frustrated by. He concluded that he couldn’t count on _one day_. That he couldn’t wait for Dean to figure things out; that he needed him to have done the math years ago.

The last number is written in a different pen, like Dean added it to the note at a later date. 

“Thirty seven,” Castiel says, pulse much higher than he would like it to be. 

Gabriel doesn’t read the final one out, but slides the book across the table to him with an odd expression. 

_We agreed to love each other madly._

And suddenly he wants to cry.

It hits him like a tidal wave, because this is _Dean_ , and he is impossible. All he has ever done is let Castiel down. He _always, always_ acts like Dean’s feelings have no material impact on the rest for the world, when they have impacted Castiel’s _everything_. 

“Why does he have to be so perfect and _so damn flawed?_ ” 

Hester crosses the room to hug him, and Castiel lets her run her hands through his hair and mother him.

None if it feels any more simple, but at least he gets a hug.

*

By the time he has complained about his workload without doing any actual work, Hester has cooked him his favourite dinner and Gabriel has updated him about his half-hearted attempts at finding employment beyond his part time hours at a cafe, Castiel feels much better about everything. 

He still has no idea what he wants from Dean Winchester, what he expects from Dean Winchester or the most prevalent feeling he has about Dean Winchester (confusion? Frustration? Nostalgic affection? Attraction?). He does, however, know that his family are willing to put up with another installment in the chronicles of bad decisions about Dean Winchester, and that they love him regardless, which is reassuring and calming.

Whatever happens or doesn’t happen with Dean, Gabriel will still try to read his text messages and try to convince him that he likes caramel sugar syrup in his coffee (he doesn’t). 

He is just facing down the blank page that should be the concept of his thesis in front of ‘family viewing’ of a terrible country and western that Dean would probably like, when Dean texts him.

_You free an evening this week to get a drink / dinner?_

Castiel bites his lip and taps the end of his new fountain pen against his notepad. He has scribbled down ‘thesis’ and gotten no further, but he has found out that the pen that Dean bought him is exquisite so the time hasn’t been wasted. Gabriel, Hester and Inias are too engrossed in the movie to ask about the ping from Castiel’s phone, which at least means he can retain _some_ privacy about this.

_Like a date?_ Castiel types, sending it before he can second guess himself. 

_Exactly like that._

Castiel’s stomach flips over. 

A date. Dean is asking him on an _actual_ date, and… and he is typing again. 

_I meant it about the not-date thing before, cause I figured there was no chance in hell that you’d wanna go there again given the total cluster fuck of the last six goes round the merrigoround, but last night was awesome & it’s not exactly a secret that you’re one of my favourite people on the freaking planet. Not expecting you to have forgiven me or trust me or anything like that & I get it if you don’t want to. But the chances of you living in the same fucking city and not seeing anyone is pretty goddamn miraculous, and then you kissed me. _

Castiel tightens his grip on the pen, as the three dots appear again.

_And I think that the problem last time was that we had to go all or nothing because of the shitty long distance, when maybe this time we can just start over and go on a couple of dates like two regular people who haven’t been doing the ‘it’s complicated’ shit for years. It feels like this time it could actually fucking work, so. It kinda feels like I’d regret it forever if I didn’t ask._

Dean thinks that this time it _could work_. 

“You’re gonna go out with him again, aren’t you,” Gabriel says dryly, eyes fixed on the back of his neck. “Damn, that ‘don’t mess with my cuz’ talk I had with him five years ago was a waste of fucking time.” 

_Just a date?_

_A first date. No pressure at all._

_Okay_ Castiel types, before he sets down his phone to pretend to concentrate on the movie and/or the thesis.

It is only when Inais points it out fifteen minutes later that he realises that he is _smiling_

.


	4. Chapter 4

Their official ‘first date’ is the following Thursday night, with Castiel’s pick of restaurant (he googled suggestions and spent a great deal of time pouring over menus to pick somewhere Dean would like in a case of misplaced anxiety, but he told Dean a TA had told him there would good steaks; he imagines that to be the kind of lie that’s acceptable on a first date).

Dean stears them into conversations as if this is the first time they’ve met, and it’s surprisingly fun to rehash that old ground with new context; where they grew up, college, jobs and family. It’s a _bit_ , but it eases away the potential for awkwardness and allows Castiel some space from thinking about the giant expanse of their history which has been clogging up his head for most of the last week. 

“So, yeah,” Dean continues, armed with a beer and an easy smile, “Blood wise, it’s just me and my kid brother, but we’ve picked up some good people along the way who are pretty much family.”

“You’ll be spending Thanksgiving and Christmas with them?”

“Thanksgiving it’s just me and Sam,” Dean continues, “But Christmas we’re flying back to Lawrence for a couple of weeks.”

“Flying,” Castiel deadpans, arching an eyebrow. 

“No freaking way,” Dean says, “Not a chance in hell that I’d talk about my phobia of flying on a first date.” 

“Why? It’s very endearing.”

“Fuck off,” Dean smiles, “So I _guess_ , Castiel, we both kinda found our own family.”

“Dean,” Castiel says, his own smile broadening, “You definitely renamed me Cas the first time we met.”

“Maybe I’ve learnt not to be so freaking presumptuous in my old age.”

“You’re twenty-two, Dean.”

“Not actually sure we got to age in this twenty questions thing, yet,” Dean throws back, quick and easy, which is most of the problem. Like this, Dean Winchester is so _easy_ to be around. He is charming and enigmatic, with his love of simple pleasures and the complicated internal battles going on underneath it all. It’s all so _easy_ , until it’s impossibly hard. 

“You are exhausting.”

“You _flirt_ , Cas.” 

“Dean,”

“I’ll quit being annoying if you quit smiling about it,” Dean says, “You want dessert?”

“No,” Castiel says, “Although the chances of the waitress ever coming back to ask is limited, anyway. 

“True,” Dean concedes, glancing over his shoulder to scan the restaurant for her. She’s stood behind the counter on her phone, as she has been for much of the evening. Castiel doesn’t really mind, as it has elongated their date, and he is having an excellent time. 

“So, Dean who I have just met. Tell me about your last romantic relationship.”

“That your standard first date line?” Dean says, “Cause I gotta say, I usually save that clusterfuck until the fifth of never.”

Some of the easy, light feeling in Castiel’s dissipates.

“You’re trying to avoid the question.”

Dean swallows and shifts on his seat. 

“Okay,” Dean says, “You want the last one that meant something, or the last something?”

“I want to know about the last person of significance in your life,” Castiel says, “You can skip all casual hookups, unless you did contact that barista from the coffee shop.” 

Dean sets down his beer. 

“I - Lisa,” 

“You _were_ avoiding the question,” Castiel says, glancing down at the table with a rush of something like _reality_ coming at him from all sides. Dean. Dean _and_ Lisa. It did happen. “You did date her.”

“I,” Dean begins, “Dunno if date is the right word, exactly.”

“You were _’romantically involved’_ with her,” Castiel says, “For how long?”

“Cas,”

“Dean,” Castiel says, “Answer the question.”

“Three months, maybe,” Dean says, “It wasn’t --- we thought we were having a kid.”

“You moved to Indiana? No, that’s not possible, you finished your degree. You had a long distance relationship.”

“She,” Dean says, “She moved to Lawrence.” 

“She _moved to Lawrence_ ,” Castiel says, and he doesn’t know what to do with this information. Dean is commitment-phobic, and yet, and yet… “You asked her to move to Lawrence.”

“No,” Dean says, rubbing the back of his neck, “No, Cas, she offered. She --- when she heard that call, with you, she ---”

“Lisa was _there_ while you were ripping my heart out from over a thousand miles away.”

Dean visibly winces.

“Cas, will you… I need you to listen. I _swear_ , it wasn’t like we were together then. She was just, she was just staying with me till we could work stuff out, with Sam and -”

“You lived together,” Castiel fills in, something in his veins turning white hot, because, because it is not that Dean is incapable of commitment, it’s just that Dean is incapable of committing to _Castiel_. While Castiel was coming to terms with the fact that Dean just simply couldn’t give Dean what he wanted, Dean giving all of those things to _Lisa_.

“We played house, Cas, it wasn’t _real_.”

“You _lived together_. From the day that we ended it, for _months_ , you lived with her. ”

“Yes, yeah, but… I moved onto the sofa.”

“For _how long_? The entire time?”

“I - most of it,” Dean says, “Cas, please.”

“Dean, it’s a simple question. Did you sleep with her?”

“Yes,” Dean says, after a few long moments, “Yeah. I… Yeah.”

“And you called her your girlfriend?”

“Cas,”

“That is _more real_ than our relationship has been for four years,” Castiel says, something in his windpipe tightening and tightening, a heavy weight squeezing his chest. He is _not_ over Dean, or this wouldn’t feel like this. 

He is still, impossibly, infatuated with Dean Winchester, and he had a serious relationship _right after_ they broke up.

_He isn’t over it_.

“Why am I here?” Castiel asks, the anger and the frustration and the disappointment and the _jealousy_ (damn Dean fucking Winchester), pressing at the back of his eyes. It is entirely maddening that Dean can make him feel like this. That he is the _only_ person to be so annoying and so disappointing to rile him up like this.

“I didn’t - I never _felt_ it, Cas, I - I tried. I thought that was all I got, that I’d missed all that other stuff. Damnit, we had surface level chemistry and fuck all in common except a _kid_ we didn’t even have. You don’t - I don’t know how to make you understand that. It was over before Ben was even born, it…. Cas.”

“I slept with Meg.”

Dean’s face slips into a mask that Castiel is not sure he’d be able to read if he didn’t have years of experience under his belt. Mostly, it’s shock, then a lot of ugly self doubt underneath. Dean is hurting. Dean is not immune to the stab of jealousy that is currently speared through Castiel’s common sense, and it shouldn’t be satisfying that he can make Dean hurt too. 

This is not a good time to talk about Meg. Except, maybe it is. Maybe then it is _done_ and discussed. 

“You slept with _Meg_ ,” Dean says, and he’s smiling, but there’s no one trace of humour or goodwill in it, “You mean your crazy, absentee, best friend _Meg_? You sure know how to pick ‘em, Cas.”

“Meg has never been _crazy_. She is damaged and troubled, but fully capable of making reasoned decisions,” Castiel says, deadpan, flat.

“You,” Dean begins, then sucks in a breath, his fake smile broadening, “You had feelings for her. I'm here scrambling around for an excuse to give you about Lise, and here you've been shaking up with your best friend -”

“We had a one night stand, Dean, I didn't meet her parents.”

“You already knew her parents,” Dean says, “You don't have _just_ a one night stand with your goddamn roommate, and what the hell do you mean, meet the parents? I didn't - Gabriel. Damnit, that stupid Walmart trip. He did see me.”

“Gabriel does not consider himself to owe loyalty to you.”

“That wasn't about _me_. I figured if you - without the context you'd think the worst, again, and you didn't need to-”

“ - you mean I’d have thought the _truth_? That you moved on from me within a matter of weeks?”

“That’s a load of crap,” Dean snaps back, “I’ve already goddamn told you that I haven’t moved on with jack shit.”

“You had a _serious girlfriend_ , Dean.”

“My serious fucking girlfriend dumped me because I was still in love with you, and as it turns out you had your own shit going on with Meg.”

“Maybe I had some feelings for Meg,” Castiel snaps back, “But I was _in love with you_ , and that damnable one night stand only happened after drinking copious amounts of alcohol _after_ Gabriel told me he saw you buying wine to impress your girlfriend's parents, and it cost me my best friend.”

“Bull _shit_ is that my fault,” Dean says.

“I wondered when _this_ Dean would show up,” Castiel says, reaching for his wallet and standing up. 

“Cas,” Dean says, leaning across the table, but he is _done_. He needs to process. He needs to goddamn _think_ , because right now he is furious.

Castiel pulls out enough money to cover his half of the bill, and leaves.

*

He calls Charlie when he gets back to his apartment.

“Tell me about Lisa,” He says in a rush.

“Ah, you ran into Dean.”

“Yes,” Castiel says hotly, “We had an apology dinner and it was perfect, then we went on a date and it was terrible. Tell me about Lisa.”

“Look, Cas, I don't know all that much,” Charlie says, as Castiel starts pacing his bedroom. Dean and Lisa. _Dean and Lisa_. He is _not_ over Dean Winchester, and Dean dated Lisa for three months out of the last eleven. “Dean was pretty… Dean about the whole thing. I didn't even know she existed until, like, March, when I'm home visiting and then it was like oh, hey Charlie, I've broken up with my endgame and now I'm having a baby with some woman who doesn't even like Star Wars.”

“Charlie. Information.”

“Cas, you've probably got a better chance of finding out about Lisa than anyone else, but okay. Dean - Dean changed his whole life overnight, because he's Dean and I guess he decided to become the antithesis of John Winchester.”

“Dean is nothing like his father.”

“Well, duh, but he, uh, went t-total,… signed up to work Saturdays for the rest of his life, fit in so many freaking evening classes he finished his degree, finished that car he was working on and sold it to put towards a freaking house deposit when they moved to Indiana. It was actually kind of creepy, Cas, him pulling this weird stepford husband thing and --- Sam, Sam was really upset about all of it. Dean was gonna move to Indiana after the baby was born, and for all Sam does that independence thing I think it really shook him that Dean wasn't going to be there. That he wasn't going to be … Helping him through college. They had a really bad fight about not moving there immediately. They didn't talk for months. I mean, months, Cas.”

Castiel stops pacing. 

“He didn't speak to Sam?”

“They were borderline civil. He didn't mention that, though. I - in March, I went over for dinner, and Lisa was … Uh, man, I just didn't like her. Dean asked if I could come over and had to go through this whole explanation about how he ain't exactly my type and she was - I don't know. There was nothing wrong with her, but… She wasn't exactly buddy with Sam which, hello, not a good sign. They were… Polite. Sam and Dean avoided each other in the kitchen. And then, next thing I know, Dean says she's moved out, and, couple of months later, that the baby isn't his. That's all he would say about it.”

“That's all you know?”

“Did I say that? “Charlie says, “Please. I went to a more reliable source.”

“Sam.”

“Bingo,” Charlie says, “Lisa moved out about a month before the baby was born. Just packed her bags and drove off. Sam was out, so he's got no idea how that went down, buuuuut. He did say they'd had a couple of arguments about you -”

“About _me_?” Castiel asks, because maybe Dean was telling him the truth. He doesn’t know whether it _changes_ anything, but --- 

_My serious fucking girlfriend dumped me because I was still in love with you_.

“Yep,” Charlie says, “I mean, from her perspective, he was at her place in Indiana for three days ---”

“Three days?” Castiel asks, his brain sticking on the words. _Three days_. Dean spent three days in fucking Indiana, not-impregnating Lisa, and then he drove to New Haven and spent the rest of the week with him. _Three days_.

When they were having coffee, Castiel said _one night stand_ and Dean said _just sex_. 

Dean purposefully avoided telling him that. Dean is picking and choosing the information he gives him. They have been back in contact for less than two weeks, and Dean is already _holding back information_. 

“Uh, yeah,” Charlie says, “He was with her when you drunk dialled her. And he left. Then when she wanted to meet up, Dean said he wasn't interested cause you were back together and theeen, well, she didn't know you were a dude. Guess she just assumed and… Straight people are kind of wild. Her mom really didn't like that and then he was obviously still in love with you --”

“Charlie,” Castiel says, pained. 

“Sorry, Cas, that's what Sam said.” 

“Dean got his life together.”

“Yeah,” Charlie said, “And he was miserable.”

“Charlie,” Cas says, his chest pounding, “He wouldn't use the word _relationship_ in relation to me, and he turned his life around for a woman he'd known for three days.” 

“Not for her, Cas. For the baby.”

“How do you _know_ that?” Castiel asks, “How do you know?”

“Cas,” Charlie says, “Sam said Dean declared that he’d ‘be straight if it made her happy’. He was --- he was doing that Dean thing where he crawls into his shell and tries to be whatever the fuck he thinks the world wants from him, without thinking a damn thing about what he actually _wants_. I don’t know that I’ve ever seen him that unhappy Cas and I’m not _saying_ that to make you feel better.”

“Why the hell didn’t you tell me he was moving here?” Castiel asks, “Charlie. That was important information.”

“You said not to mention him to you again,” Charlie says, “So I ----”

“My roommate is knocking on my door,” Castiel says, curtly, “We can discuss this later.”

“Cas -”

“- goodbye, Charlie,” Castiel says, sharp, “What is it, Timothy?”

“There’s a guy at the door saying he wants to talk to you. Dean, or something,” Timothy says, “Should I let him in?”

“Yes,” Castiel bites out, dumping his phone on his bed and shutting his door behind him with a click, because suddenly he is _ready for a fight_.

“Look, Cas --” Dean begins, stood in the doorway to Castiel’s apartment, looking like he’s spent the last half an hour since Castiel walked out of the restaurant running his hands through his hair in frustration. 

“Why are you only giving me half the information about what happened?” Castiel demands, before Dean has the chance to finish his sentence. Dean bites back whatever he was going to say and squares his jaw. 

“Because,” Dean says, “Because this is not my favourite topic of freaking conversation, I - hey,” Dean says, gaze sliding over to Castiel’s roommate and shifting his weight awkwardly onto his other foot. 

“Timothy, this is Dean, my ex boyfriend. Dean, this is one of my housemates.”

“Hey,”Dean says, “Cas. Can we talk about this in your room?”

“You're not coming into my room.”

“Okay,” Dean exhales, “Look, Cas, I didn’t -”

“ _Three days._ ”

“What?”

“You were with Lisa in Indiana for three days.”

“Yeah,” Dean says, “Cas -”

“ - so, you spend three days fooling around with Lisa, and then you drive to _my apartment_ and stay for four days -”

“You knew I was with someone in Indiana, Cas, that wasn't a goddamn secret.”

“There is a difference between a one night stand and a full fledged mini break, Dean.”

“We hadn't spoken for two fucking years, Cas! I'm goddamn sorry I didn't put my whole life permanently on hold waiting for your distress call. You didn't ask about who I was with.”

“Did it not seem like pertinent information?”

“No, it goddamn didn't,” Dean says, “Because it wasn't important. She was just some girl, Cas, she wasn't supposed to be important.”

“Until she was pregnant,” Castiel says, voice sharp. Timothy looks utterly enthralled by the utter mess that his love life, and Dean glances at him with a dark flush at the corner of his ears. 

“Yes. What do you want me to say, Cas?”

“I am glad that your road trip was such a fulfilling experience for you.”

“Cas. Do you know how fucking illogical you're being about this?”

“Sometimes feelings aren't logical, Dean.”

“I - I didn't do a damn thing wrong about that. Everything fucking else, maybe.”

“Why didn't you _tell_ me?”

“Because they weren't remotely the same thing, okay? I drove for fourteen hours to see you because you goddamn _drunk dialled_ me, Cas. Look --- I didn’t tell you about Lisa over coffee because I thought that was the last fucking time you’d ever tolerate talking to me, anyway, and I --- I just thought, after everything we’ve been through, that we shouldn’t have left things like we did,” Dean says, “And I know --- I know what it _sounds like_ , but you --- I swear, Cas, I haven’t been trying to be a douchebag about this, and I just --- I need you to hear me out.”

“You _need me too_?” Castiel repeats, blood still red hot in his veins “Why should I?”

“Because, fuck, Cas, even if you decide you never want to see me again, you’re gonna feel better if you hear me out on this. I --- fuck, Cas _please_ can we talk in your room? You - _please_.” 

Something in the desperate rasp of Dean’s _please_ knocks some of the anger out of his brain, and wakes him to the reality that he is having a very public conversation in front of a roommate he doesn’t particularly know or like. 

“Fine,” Castiel says, leading Dean through to his bedroom and standing to face him. He looks awful and Castiel isn’t sure whether or not he is glad about that, and he’s not really sure which parts of his anger are rational and which aren’t, he just knows that he has a concrete answer to Hester’s question: he is angry. He is _beyond_ angry at Dean Winchester, and Charlie, and every other single person who knew what was going on and _did not tell him_.

“Okay,” Dean says, gaze tripping over the phone on Castiel’s bed, “You spoke to Charlie.”

“Yes,”

“I, okay,” Dean says, swallowing, “She doesn’t exactly have the whole picture, so, I -- okay. From the beginning. I, yeah, I was with Lisa for three days, but it wasn’t anything. Not saying I didn’t _like_ her, but she knew I was leaving the whole time, and I was already planning to go before you called. And then you _did_ call, and I got in my car and drove. You --- you heard me telling her you were my high school ex and she made a joke about me still being into you before I freaking left,” Dean says, “And …. Then, then she just wanted a DNA test.”

“And you couldn’t do that,”

“No,” Dean says, “So I ... asked her to stay until we could work some stuff out. Just a few days. Then Sam just…. Took off and it all blew up. He was so fucking mad at me, Cas, and I…. he wouldn’t move to Indiana and I couldn’t make him, so I was gonna… gonna try and pay his rent and ours but it --- he knew it wouldn’t work. That he’d have to work to pay his rent for the rest of high school and I,” Dean’s voice cuts off, waivers, “And it was… it was _all of that_ that made me forget you’d called, Cas. Sam _took off_ and I didn’t know where the hell he was, and you --- you never tried again. And. And… Lisa, she saw that and our conversation and she…. And it --- fuck, Cas, I just wanted this kid to have a better fucking chance than I did, and Lise saw that, so she tried to make it easier. She said she’d move to Lawrence till Ben was born. I, I was losing Sam,” Dean says, and he’s pale and his voice is quiet, and Castiel has held Dean as he wept over having to leave Sam at Sonny’s, and he doesn’t know if he can imagine Dean facing the prospect of not being able to help him finish high school. 

Castiel had forgotten how difficult Dean finds it to talk about anything. It is not reassuring. 

“And, guess I shut down. We, uh. Lise, her parents split up when she was a kid, and we --- we got along okay. I just, I didn’t want this kid, this _innocent kid_ to ever have to sleep in his car, or skip a meal.”

“Dean,” Castiel says, his own voice unsteady.

“And it seemed like --- if I could get everything right with Ben, it would make up for letting Sam down. Lisa. She kissed me and I thought that that’s what they needed. And I just, I wanted to get it right, for once, so fucking bad, Cas. Classes, work, money. And the only fucking thing I did was _dissapoint everyone_. Bobby and Sonny didn’t say anything, but l they didn’t think I was cut out for it. That I’d fuck it all up. That I’d _already_ fucked it all up. Cas. I get why you’re upset,” Dean says, “But nothing in that relationship was about _me_ , and Lisa could see right fucking through me, so she left. She _should_ have left. I’d have goddamn left,” Dean says, “And then --- sometimes you hit rock bottom so many fucking times you don’t know what to call it anymore.”

“She left before Ben was born,”

“Yeah,” Dean says, rubbing a hand over his face. “And it hit me that I’d torn apart every _single_ relationship that it was important in my life, and that… Sam hadn’t spoken to me for _months_ , that all I’d ever goddamn done was hurt you, and that it only took a couple of freaking months for Lisa to be so over my bullshit for her to walk out with my _kid_. And ... and I had to rebuild all of it. Pay someone to listen to my shitty problems. Have it out with Sam. Apologies to Lisa. Work out why the hell I pushed everyone away.”

“It’s because you deprioritise your own happiness to the point that you are _unable_ to consider the impact the self-destructive actions have on the people that deeply care about you,” Castiel says, and his voice is hoarse and his shoulders are still bunched together with tension, and he doesn’t know whether he is angry or sad anymore. Both, probably. _Dean_ and is infuriating, with his unsurmountable issues, with his catalogues of mistakes and his inability to _understand his own worth_. 

Dean smiles. It’s a sad, bitter thing, but it’s there.

“Know that _now_ ,” Dean says, “Maybe I should have told you _all of that_ the second I saw you for coffee, but I figured you’d punch me in the face before I got to end.”

“You should have told me before you asked me on a date,” Castiel says, and there’s that anger again. He is so deeply _annoyed_ at Dean, because…. Castiel isn’t over him. He isn’t over him, and Dean still has this unreasonable power over his emotions, and it is _not fair_. Castiel had moved passed this. He had _moved forward_. “You skirted around the subject _on purpose_ and didn’t allow me to make a considered choice.” 

“Yeah,” Dean swallows, “You’re right. If you still wanna punch me in the face, go ahead.” 

Castiel is angry enough to. He’s angry enough, because Dean should have _told him this eleven months ago_ , and because Dean shouldn’t have waited until it was too late. He’s angry because Dean spent three fucking days with Lisa right before he spent four days with Castiel, and even if it isn’t reasonable for him to be bothered by it feels like it _lessesn_ that time somehow. He’s angry because he’s jealous and because he doesn’t want to be jealous, and he’s angry because Gabriel is probably right, and he’s angry because _Dean is standing their pouring his heart out when Castiel just wants to be angry at him_.

But, if he punches him in the face, they could never go there again. That would be it. They couldn’t come back from it. It would be truly, _truly_ over.

_And he doesn’t want that_.

Castiel throws his arms around his neck and hugs him instead.

He buries his face against his skin as Dean wraps his arms around his back and just _holds him_. It is ridiculous that the source of all this emotional turmoil can also be so fucking soothing, and it is not fair that even as Castiel is furious that Dean being so close helps.

It is _not fair_ that Lisa happened to get pregnant and happened to think that Dean was the father, and it is not fair that Dean is pigheaded enough and idiotic enough to try and do the ‘right thing’ in exactly the way that makes Castiel’s heart feel like it has been placed in a blender. It is _not fair_ that Dean is warm and solid and smells so deliciously _like Dean_. It is not fair that Dean waited until he was this far in to tell him all of this, and it is absolutely not fair that Castiel’s bar of _this far in_ when it comes to Dean Winchester is one goddamn apology dinner. 

“Cas,” Dean mutters into his ear, as Castiel clutches onto his shirt, “I’m so fucking sorry. I swear, Cas.”

Castiel concentrates on the steady thrum of Dean’s pulse as his whispers apologies into his skin. 

“I _hate_ that you can still make me feel like this,” Castiel says, after he has half let go (one hand is still baled up in Dean’s shirt) and has sat on the edge of the bed. He is shaky and emotional and angry and so, so relieved that Dean is _still there_ , as highly irritating as that is. 

“Yeah,” Dean breathes back, still close enough that Castiel can feel his body heat, “How’s being over me working out?”

“You are an _assbut_ ,” Castiel says, but then he’s smiling ( _damnit Dean_ ) and Dean is sat next to him with an arm thrown over his shoulders. Castiel sways into the touch because right now _he needs it_ , and because he’s not sure that most of this is Dean’s fault. He doesn’t know. He hasn’t decided.

_He isn’t over him_.

“Know it sounds fucking stupid, but I’m glad you asked,” Dean says, in that intimate-Dean-voice that no one else gets to here. “I… wanted you to _know_ all this stuff, just didn’t actually wanna tell you.”

“Why?” Castiel asks, “Were you expecting some kind of overreaction?” 

Dean laughs, and his hand is warm on Castiel’s knee, and he is closer than he has been for the last year, and Castiel closes his eyes and tries to work out what the fuck he feels about anything.

And then, they _talk_.

Castiel tells Dean about Gabriel calling him out ( _‘I love you, Cassie, but when are you going to nut up and take ownership for your own fucking actions?_ ) and Hannah calmly informing him that Meg has loved him for years. Dean tells him about him and Sam sitting in the car and talking it out until they both lost their voices; about telling Sam about the bridge, about how it felt to lose their father, about what he remembers of Mary Winchester’s death. Castiel tells him about sitting opposite his father and asking him if he knew what he was apologising for. Dean tells him about finding out that Ben wasn’t his after all; the sharp edge of disappointment and grief, and then much, much later, the beginnings of relief. 

Somewhere between one story and the next he falls asleep, fully dressed and with Dean’s arms wrapped around him. 

*

They go for coffee the next morning before Dean has to go to work, and Dean suggests with wide, hopefully eyes that they should reschedule their first date.

Castiel says he needs time to process. 

He takes a week.

Their second attempt at a first date goes much, much better, and that time Dean kisses him goodnight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well. We couldn't exact have a completely angst free story, right?


	5. Chapter 5

Their second date takes an unreasonable amount of time to schedule thanks to Thanksgiving and Castiel’s work schedule, meaning that it’s the first week of December before he picks Dean up for their dinner and a movie (the entire journey of Dean mocking his car is probably more endearing than it should be given that there really is nothing wrong with his car).

Dean picked the movie theatre, and it’s one of those places that has sofas rather than seats that charges double the price for the concept, but Dean seems to find a lot of childlike joy in claiming the ‘best sofa’ which makes it worth it. He also picked the movie, which is definitely secondary to Castiel’s priority when it comes to the date, but seems tolerable enough.

It’s after a trip to buy another soda that he registers how utterly respectfully Dean is sitting on one side of their sofa. Not a single limb is crossing over the boundary line and —- well. Dean’s sudden preoccupation with their physical boundaries is not something that Castiel shares. He doesn’t want _distance_. If he has to still have feelings for Dean Winchester, he might as well reap the benefits.

Castiel purposefully sits back down in the centre of the sofa, and leans slightly into Dean’s space. Dean pretends to be too fixated on the movie to notice, but then he does that delightful faux-casual arm stretch across the back of their sofa. 

He turns and offers him and smile when Castiel tucks himself underneath his arm, which is an excellent opportunity to kiss him.

They have only _really_ kissed once since they started ‘going on dates’, and that was a simple brief thing that did nothing to quench his desire to _be close to Dean._

This time, Castiel intends to get fill. 

Dean shifts his whole body to better their angle and Castiel just barely resists the urge to curl into his lap. 

He has absolutely no idea what happens in the movie. 

*

“This is the place,” Dean finishes, gesturing with his thumb as Castiel cuts the engines. Dean has given him directions, but mostly it has pressed upon him how close they really do live to each other now. Even Sonny’s was significantly further away from Milton's family home compared to Dean’s current address. He could walk it. “Pretty good second date.”

Dean could have moved anywhere in the whole of America and he practically lives next door. 

“Pretty good,” Castiel repeats, arching an eyebrow at him.

“Alright, hot stuff, it was awesome.”

“I enjoyed the movie.”

“Really,” Dean smirks, “What about the movie?”

“The plot,” Castiel deadpans. 

“Uhuh. Which bit of the plot?”

This is what he has never experienced in any other of his attempts at relationships; the sense of _fun_ that Dean brings. In their last not-relationship, Dean raised that they didn’t have that anymore. That their easy, warm exchanges had been stifled by the distance and the pressure of trying to work out whether they had a chance of making anything work. Then, Castiel didn’t get it. He was too blinded by the overwhelming _seriousness_ of how much he cared about Dean to be concerned about the light, fun parts of their relationship. 

He’s understood it since.

Dean teases him. He’s exuberant and bright and he is _fun_. 

“The character development.”

“You’re full of shit,” Dean smiles, leaning forward to kiss him. Castiel stretches forward to deepen the kiss: tangles his fingers through the fine hairs on the nape of his neck, thigh pressed uncomfortably against the handbrake.

“Your car is much better for this.” 

“My car is better for freaking everything,” Dean says, “Up to and including _driving_ , looking hot and making out in.” 

“Your car does have a degree more sex appeal.”

“A degree my fucking ass,” Dean says, “They’re not even on the same scale, Cas.” 

“Gabriel offered to key your car for me,” Castiel smiles, “You should consider yourself blessed I didn’t give him your new address.”

“ _Key my fucking baby_?”

“You did break my heart,”

“Then send him to _break my face_ , my baby is goddamn innocent in this,” Dean says, “Take it back.”

“Dean, I didn’t _let him_.”

“Swear to God, he even _thinks_ about it ever again -”

“ - there’s a simple way to avoid this eventuality,” Castiel says, “Do not do it again.” 

“That’s sure as hell a plan,” Dean says, with so much conviction that it’s difficult to doubt his intentions. 

And there’s something about his indignance about the concept of his car being scratched that tugs at some deep affection in Castiel’s gut. He remembers Dean smashing up the impala when his world was falling apart and he remembers the moment Castiel realised that all of Dean’s belongings in the world were stored in the trunk, and he is entirely sure that he could never _really_ be angry enough to really consider damaging his car.

Then again, Dean’s capacity to inspire anger in Castiel is legendary.

“Good,” Castiel says, simply, even though nothing about this is _simple_. He’s written simpler assignments on metaphysics than this latest segment of his feelings about Dean Winchester and nothing has got much clearer in the past few weeks, except for the fact that he is definitely not over Dean.

Castiel leans forward to kiss him again, but Dean hesitates and sucks in a breath. 

“I --- I’m not gonna invite you in,” Dean says, “Dunno if that was even in your head, but. I’m not going to.”

“You’re not going to invite me in,” Castiel repeats, tilting his head at him to try and read his expression. 

“Did you,” Dean begins, then stops and swallows, “Did you want to?”

He had _expected_ Dean to ask. They’ve been down this road enough times that he assumed that would be on the cards and the preemptive rejection stings. Dean is _frustrating_ and unfathomable and … yes. He _does_ want to be invited in. He wants to poke around Dean’s apartment and he wants to slip that leather jacket off Dean’ shoulders and kiss him; he wants skin and Dean’s arms wrapped around him all night, and he wants coffee in the morning. He’s not sure that he wants to want those things, but he does _want them._

“What’s the point of this question?”

“Cas, help me out here,” Dean says, “What’s going on in your head?”

“You’re _not_ inviting me in.”

“Not because I don’t _want_ to,” Dean says, fixing him with one of the most compelling versions of his green stare.

“Don’t deny yourself on my account.”

“So you do want to,”

“Does it matter?”

“I, Cas,” Dean says, voice a little strangled, “I’m not. I’m not interested in you for sex.” The words settle round the car, stagnant and awkward, before Dean seems to hear what he just said. “That came out wrong. Obviously, I wanna jump your bones. A lot. Like, _a lot_.”

“Even with my ‘boner killer’ car,” Castiel deadpans.

“Even then,” Dean says.

“I sense a but,” Castiel says, “And not the kind I am currently interested in.”

“I _really_ want this to work,” Dean breathes, “I want it to work out _so goddamn badly,_ and. We don’t have a good track record with jumping right in.”

“I have no idea what you mean,” Castiel drawls. 

“Cas,” Dean says, “I can’t do another waking up to my keys on my freaking bedside table. I can’t do another Yale. If we can make this work, it has to be now. And, hell fucking yeah I wanna invite you up right now, but —- sex makes things complicated.” 

“I wonder what it would be like to have a complicated relationship.”

“You’re kinda snarky when your horny.”

“Sorry,” Castiel says, tracking over the lines of Dean’s expression to work him out. He’s used to have to peel back the layers of Dean’s facades, but right now Dean is open and _vulnerable_. He’s not used Dean offering up vulnerability without raw emotion. Usually, Dean’s walls come down when he’s falling apart. He’s honest when he doesn’t have the strength to lie. He doesn’t sit opposite him and say ‘ _I really want this to work’_ just because he wants it. “You’re right. It’s very annoying, but you are making a frustrating amount of sense.”

“Yep,” Dean throws back, “I’m a regular pain in your ass.” 

“I don’t know what I want yet,” Castiel says.

“Other than my naked ass, it sounds like.”

“Dean,” Castiel chastises, “We should talk about this.”

“Yeah,” Dean exhales. His gaze shifts back to his front door before he speaks again and Castiel watches the minute changes in emotion and attempts to diagnose them. Disappointment? Resignation? It’s difficult to determine. “Didn’t exactly expect you to know what to do with any of this. It’s… kind of wild that this is even happening.” 

“I,” Castiel begins, “I _do_ want this to work, but I don’t trust it.”

“ _That’s_ not exactly a surprise,” 

“I don’t know if I _want_ to want it to work,” Castiel says, “But I... I do _want_ it to work. And your ‘naked ass’.” 

Dean huffs a smile and shifts back to look at him properly. It’s much too easy to make Dean smile, but winning them still feels like the best game of all time. It’s a paradox that Castiel has spent a great length of time trying to decipher, years ago, and not something that he wants to think about right now. 

_That_ borders too close on the complexity of what a good outcome for this even looks like.

“Just keep me updated, capisce?”

“I capisce.” 

“You freaking dork,” Dean smiles, a bright, lovely thing that crinkles the corners of eyes, and then he kisses him again. It’s a good kiss (although they always are; goddamn _Dean Winchester_ ). He lingers close enough that Castiel can feel him smile again.“I should go.”

“If you insist on continuing to be logical about this,”

“Yep, I insist,” Dean returns, leaning forward to kiss him one last time before he slips out the car. He taps on the window when he gets to Castiel’s side of the car, and Castiel dutifully unwinds it. “Thanks for the date, Cas.”

“Thank you for the blue balls.” 

“Oh, now you’re freaking asking for it,” Dean says, taking a step back and nodding towards the car door. “Out, Cas.”

Castiel fumbles with the handle on his way out and then Dean steps fully into his personal space and kisses him thoroughly, incredibly and perfectly against the car door.

“ _There’s_ your blue balls,” Dean grins, offering him a wink before he disappears inside his apartment. 

*

He’s too full of adrenaline to go to bed when he gets in and he’s too distracted to get any of his own work done, so he instead turns to the stack of assignments he has to mark from the undergraduate class he’s teaching and stops short at the title.

It’s much too close to their conversation for it not to be amusing and... he wants to send it to Dean. 

Castiel picks up his phone and scrolls through the messages they’ve exchanged over the past few weeks. The past dozen or so messages are all them attempting to arrange this date and the one before it, but before that he has the messages they exchanged last year.

It feels like much longer ago than twelve months.

Dean is _very_ different. He’s open and vulnerable and… mature. Dean doesn’t want to rush in and he solemnly declares that he really wants this to work without prompting. He’s happy without Castiel, he just wants him anyway. 

Dean is happy. Castiel has never seen Dean happy and it’s incredibly addictive. His usually magnetism is increased when he’s relaxed and comfortable with himself. He is _compelling_ and it would be much, much too easy for Castiel to let himself fall back into this.

_I don’t know if I want to want this to work._

In the first week of January last year, Dean sent him _call me when you’re alone and free to talk. Wanna talk to you about something_. According to Dean, that was the conversation where he was finally going to commit. 

(He doesn’t know if he really believes it. It all feels very _convenient_. This Dean may be _happy_ , but Castiel has no idea how receptive he would be to commitment).

In the message before that, Dean sent _you’d look good in flannel. Actually, you’d look good in fucking anything_ with no context surrounding it. Before that, he has photos of Castiel’s travel mug in various different locations, a photo of Dean’s car project and photos _of_ Dean. He has lewd jokes and how’s-your-day-dears and complaints about gas bills.They spoke every day. All the time. 

Castiel isn’t sure that he wants _that_ , but he wants more than these sporadic dates. He wants something _more_.

He turns back to his stack of assignments, takes a picture of the essay title ‘ _can cyber sex ever be sex?’_ and sends it to Dean.

_My task is to mark thirty of these papers this evening for my undergraduate class_. 

Dean replies immediately.

_Wtf are you teaching???_

_An introduction to philosophy of sex and sexual ethics. Had I realised that the reason they fostered the class off on first year masters students was because it attracted a significant waiting list of moronic first year undergraduates, I would have picked Descartes 101_. 

_Should’ve gone to college_

_You did_

_Clearly, the wrong damn college_ Dean types out, and then _So. Can cyber sex ever be sex?_

Castiel abandons the pile of papers to sit on the edge of his bed and type out an answer. He’s smiling like an idiot at his phone, which is both nice and irritating. 

_This depends on your definition of sex. In defence of the undergraduates, four of them have chosen to discuss whether phone sex is sex instead._

_got no idea about your philosophical shit, but I know it was pretty damn good sex when we tried it_

_Ah. So it would fall into your sex-ban? Theoretically, of course._

_You flirt, Cas._.

_I don’t flirt_ Castiel types out, and sends it along with the angel emoji.

_Whatever you say, sunshine_.

_On an entirely unrelated note, there is a coffee shop on campus that sells pie that even I find enjoyable_.

Dean sends him three heart eyes and then, in quick succession, _how come my own flesh & blood has never told me about this pie??_

_when are we doing this again?_

_When’s the pie shop open?_

_I’m unclear of it’s exact opening times, but I will be there at 11am on Saturday morning._

Dean sends him an entire text message full of pie emojis in response. It’s a very good text message. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact: the philosophy of sex is a module I studied (and found genuinely fascinating). Whilst I was at uni I got invited to my publishers fancy pants Christmas party. My uni very kindly let me take one of my exams early so that I could attend said party in London, and then they kept filling up my glass of wine and I didn't really notice how much I was drinking, so I accidentally drank approximately 1.5 bottles of wine and then answered the 'what are you studying' questions with a bit too much detail. My book was a YA novel so this was lumped together with all the children's authors.
> 
> So, basically, I told a bunch of strangers who write storybooks that I was studying whether or not the dictionary definition of penetrative sex was a good definition.
> 
> At least they might remember me even if it's been 5 years since I sent them any writing :') 
> 
> ANWYAY, short chapter is short--- but quick!


	6. Chapter 6

Dean is buoyant and cheerful and spirited, and then he is not.

Castiel narrows his eyes as he sits back down and watches Dean half heartedly reach for his pie. 

There’s something fundamentally different about the line of his shoulders and his facial expression than when Castiel went to pick up their order, even if he’s doing a decent impression on pretending that nothing is wrong. Castiel _knows_ Dean, and he knows when something is bothering him.

“What’s wrong?” 

“Hmm?”

“Dean, you have a specific pie smile that is distinctly absent. I know something is wrong.” 

Dean picks up his fork and takes a mouthful of pie. A fleck of pastry sticks to his bottom lip, which is distracting and lovely. 

It’s cherry pie and the first time he had eaten it, it had made him think of Dean. One of his classmates talked him into buying it with the declaration that it was ‘better than sex’ (it wasn’t) and it made him think about Dean. This was before Dean had moved to California, and it was a simple, nostalgic kind of feeling, and the more of the pie he ate the more he was sure of the _exact_ smile Dean Winchester would smile if he ever ate this pie. 

When he imagined it, it wasn’t anything like this. 

“It’s good pie.” 

“It’s excellent pie,” Castiel says, “Don’t presume to bullshit me. I know you too well.”

“Guess you do,” Dean says, eye’s flickering with _something_ that Castiel finds difficult to work out. Longing, maybe, twinged with regret and frustration. “You don’t wanna know.”

“I didn’t know that you were able to read my mind.”

“Cas,”

“ _Dean_ ,” 

“Fine,” Dean says, and flips his phone over. He’s been scrolling through Facebook, apparently, and it turns the screen round to face Castiel. He’s presented with a picture of a woman and a baby, and it takes a moment for his brain to catch up and register that this is _Lisa and Ben._

And, Dean was probably right. Castiel _doesn’t_ want to know that Dean spent the couple of minutes Castiel queued up to buy Dean Winchester pie looking at pictures of his ex-girlfriend and her baby, because that upturns another well of emotions that Castiel doesn’t really want to process. 

He doesn’t _want_ to feel jealous of a woman that Dean said he ‘just played house with’ and the concept of Dean being a father makes him feel discomforted and insecure, and all of it makes him _doubt_.

Castiel isn’t sure he knows what he wants from this anyway and he has always, always hated the way doubt eroded his sense of self. 

“Look, it doesn’t freaking matter,” Dean begins, reaching to take the phone away, but Castiel reaches out to stop him before he’s able on a reflex.

He wants to know about Lisa and he especially wants to know about Lisa if Dean still thinks about her.

She is very attractive, but then of course she is. Dean picked her up in a bar and stayed at her apartment for three days. She doesn’t like Star Wars but agreed to move to Lawrence for months at the drop of a hat. She was uncomfortable with Dean still having feelings for Castiel, but Dean still speaks of her with respect and regard. _She_ managed to get Dean to go to therapy and finish his degree, and she walked out on him for not being what she needed.

Lisa kissed him, and then she left.

Castiel is sure that they would look sickeningly good together and thinking about _that_ is a little like pressing a bruise. It’s a good measure of how the concept of that still hurts, even if that’s not fair.

_Six months already <3 _ is the caption that accompanies the phone and the baby - Ben - has a T-shirt with a six emblazoned across it. Lisa is looking at him with a wide, dazzling smile, and Ben is offering a gummy smile back. 

Looking at this picture distracted Dean from _pie_ , and now he is quiet and looking at his coffee with his jaw locked. 

Castiel looks up at Dean and feels the jigsaw pieces beginning to fit together.

“You wanted him to be yours.”

“I,” Dean begins, swallows, looks at his pie without really seeing it. “It’s for the best this way.”

Dean _wanted Ben to be his_.

“Dean,”

“Not exactly cut out for the job,” Dean says, “It — it’s better, like this.”

“But you wanted it.”

Castiel feels sick. He made this about _Lisa_ and about how _Castiel felt about Lisa_ and it didn’t occur to him that Dean lost something. 

“Not at first,” Dean concedes, “But, I kept thinking about this _kid._ About this baby. And Lise — we talked about who he would be. Only thing we ever talked about, really, and — and when she left, it was Ben that I felt like I was losing.”

“He looks like you,” Castiel says, with a lump in the back of his throat. “Are you -?”

“Yeah,” Dean says, “She sent me a copy of the DNA test. You know, her mom didn’t even call me till after he was born. Till after they’d done the test. Man, she hated me, Lisa’s mom. I —- I wanted to see him. Just once, but Lise...she didn’t think it was a good idea. She was probably right, I —- it’s complicated. I just. I know it sounds dumb, but I loved that kid.”

“It doesn’t,” Castiel says, and he wants to cry. He wants to _cry_. 

Why does all of this have to be so complicated? 

“And, I get that it’s for the best. It’s good, like this. I get Sam and I get to — to see you, and have a damn life, and Lisa has got him covered.”

“You respect Lisa a great deal.” 

“Yeah,” Dean blinks, “Probably shouldn’t say that to you, but she… she’s fiercely independent and kind of a badass. And --- she told me and she told me straight up that he might _not_ be mine. She’s cool. We --- got to this place we were gonna co-parent. As friends, I mean. We were working it out. She was pretty clear when she left that she wasn’t gonna make it difficult for me see Ben, it’s just she needed me to --- sort my fucking life out.”

“You did,” Castiel says.

“A baby is a helluva goddamn motivation, Cas.”

“I’m sorry,”

“What the hell for?”

“I,” Castiel begins, “This is why you didn’t want to talk about it initially.”

“Look, it’s just not my favourite goddamn topic of conversation,” Dean says, “This --- this is the best it could have worked it out. For everyone.”

“No, it’s not,” Castiel says, “Dean, any child would be lucky to have your unwavering loyalty.”

“Everyone was right. I wasn’t ready.”

“Of course you weren’t,” Castiel says, “You were twenty two and you thought a one night stand who lived in a different state was going to have your _child_ , but you would have gotten ready. _Dean_. I wouldn’t be sat here having pie with you if I didn’t know that, fundamentally, you are a good person.”

“Right,” Dean says, “Tell that to _’I think it’s for the best if you delete my number_ ’.”

“It was _for the best_ that you deleted my number,” Castiel says, “We have a tendency to make each other very unhappy, Dean.”

“Yeah,” Dean says, “‘Cause I can never give you want you need. Yeah, I listen,”

“You believe you don’t deserve what you _want_ ,” Castiel says, “It is one of the most frustrating things about you. Even now, you won’t say that you _wanted_ Ben to be yours, because you don’t think you’re qualified.”

“Okay, Dr Phil, first off I’m _not_ qualiifed, and second --- it’s fucking complicated. Most days of the week, not being so weighed down by godamn responsibility that I can’t think straight is pretty goddamn awesome, and I wake up and realise I’m a twenty minute drive away from my little brother -”

“-- you wouldn’t have had to choose,”

“Maybe it’s not all or nothing but, Cas, you can’t have everything. Sometimes you get _something and something_ , and you want all of it. No, I didn’t have to cut Sam out because I thought I was having a kid and, no, Cas, I didn’t have to push you out because I thought it was the only way to hang onto my brother, but ---- yeah. I’d have had to choose between moving to Indiana and seeing Sam at Christmasses and Thanksgivings, or being the kind of Dad that’s only ever seen his kid in pictures. I --- right now, at this place in my life, things are _good_ for the first time in my whole damn existence, and I don’t see how any of that could have happened if Lisa hadn’t thought Ben was mine, or if Ben _was_ mine. I _mean it_ when I say that all of this is for the best, but sometimes I see a damn picture of him and it feels like someone’s punched me in the gut, and it feels like somethin’ I didn’t even know I ever wanted is trickling through my fingers, but you don’t want to talk about this.”

“Why are you insisting that I don’t want to talk about this?”

“Because it fucking upsets you,” Dean says, and he isn’t wrong. This conversation does _upset_ him, but more than that it is utterly infuriating. “And I get it. Don’t like the thought of you shacked up with anyone, either, and the timing is just ---”

“--- It’s not about the timing,” Castiel says, “Well, no, it’s about more than the timing. Dean, I wanted you to do that for me,” Castiel says, “Dean, I _needed you_ to ‘sort your fucking life out’ too, and you didn’t. I’m aware that’s selfish ---”

“It’s not _selfish_ ,” Dean says, “Misguided, maybe.”

“ _Misguided_?”

“Look, Cas, I tried fixing myself for someone ---and the only damn thing that I did was make us both miserable.”

“Dean, you’re not _broken_. I never wanted you to be _not_ yourself. I never wanted you to be less committed to your brother, I just wanted you to be honest with yourself about _what you want_ and to be prepared to make a decision.”

“Cas,” Dean says, leaning far enough over the table that he nearly knocks his pie off the table. He has eaten _one_ bite of pie. “I _get that_ , but I don’t think you understand how much of my damn life has been out of my control.” 

“Dean. My father controlled the TV I accessed, the subjects I studied, the people I socialised, and then he left and I was tipped into chaos. I understand how it feels for things to happen to you. I am acutely aware of the hopeless noose of free will when it feels the world has set you up to fail. I understand not being in control,” Castiel says, sharply, “But our relationship has not been one of those things . You had a decision to make, and you procrastinated until the world took away your choice. It upsets me that you couldn’t make that decision for me. I know that is selfish and unfair, but that’s how I feel.”

“Okay”, Dean says, “This is what I mean, Cas. I —- I’m not saying you’re wrong to feel like that, but I can’t goddamn do anything about this, and it — can’t it be e-goddamn-nough that I’ve made the decision now?”

“You’ve made a decision?” Castiel asks, archly, because this is the first he’s ever heard of a _decision_. Thus far, Dean has suggested they start over and date as if they don’t have years of history, he has said that he is not over Castiel and he has apologised. None of that screams _decision_ to Castiel. 

“I’ve made a lot of damn decisions. I decided that Sam’s been right about this codependency shtick for a long time, and that I’m gonna have to trust that he’s smart enough to let me know if he needs my help and that he respects me enough to want me around. I decided that I had to try and work out how to do stuff for me, that I had to find out some goddamn way of feeling happy in own skin, alone, and — and when Charlie said you were here, I decided that if you didn’t throw something in my damn face then I had to _try._ ” 

“To _apologise_ to me.” Castiel substitutes. 

“Cas. I didn’t suggest this going on dates because I’m not sure. I _want you._ I want this to work. I want to make you goddamn happy, I just — I don’t know how this works.” 

Castiel’s brain trips over on the words, because this is more than some throwaway comment about old feelings. This comment has _intention_. It has presence. It’s more than ‘going on a few dates’. This is about as serious as Dean Winchester ever is about anything.

“You,” Castiel begins, “You _want_ me?” 

“Damnit,” Dean says, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck. A pink flush is crawling up Dean’s ears as he talks, “This — this is why I wanted to take things fucking slow. Don’t wanna be the guy putting this on you out the blue when you haven’t even worked out if you want me around yet.”

“This isn’t out of the blue,” Castiel says, “Regardless of how you’ve insisted on defining it in the past, we have been in an on off relationship for four years. You laying your cards on the table is surprisingly refreshing after years of assuming I’m imagining your feelings because they never translate into action.” 

Dean looks at him for a long few seconds.

“Okay,” Dean says, clenching his jaw and stealing himself. “You want my full hand, cards on the table, here you are. I’m in love with you, and that has scared the crap out of me for goddamn years, but —- recently, I’ve been feeling pretty good about it. I — I’m not expecting anything from you right now. Don’t exactly deserve you to be jumping for joy about that, and that’s not my self deprecating crap, either, I’ve learnt a lot about the ways I’ve screwed this up, and. It feels like we have an honest to god chance, for the first time in our lives.”

And ----

Dean is _still in love with him_.

“You feel good about being in love with me,” Castiel repeats. His mouth is dry, and he’s not entirely sure how their discussion of pie has derailed into _this_.

“Yeah,” Dean says, “Don’t get me wrong, I’m still pretty damn sure that you’re not gonna want chain yourself to this hot mess, and I’m gonna have to work out how to deal , but... I spent months trying to make something work with Lisa, wondering what the hell was wrong with me, that I couldn’t feel a damn thing for this awesome freaking woman, with this white picket fence life that I always figured that I actually wanted but could never admit to, but it wasn’t right.”

“And that wasn’t because of my deal with Sam and it wasn’t even because we were thrown into a dingo ate my baby crazy situation, where we only met once and then were pretty sure that we were stuck together for life, it’s —- it’s because I do fucking know _what I want_ and I knew then, I just … didn’t know what to do with that.”

_Dean is in love with him, and he wants him._.

Castiel doesn’t know what to say to that. He’s wanted Dean to say that for years. He has wanted to hear this for _so long_.

“How’s your pie, Cas?” Dean says.

“I’m not hungry.” 

“Look, fuck, that was a lot. I didn’t mean to just —”

“Why couldn’t you say any of those things to me a year ago?” 

“I wasn’t,” Dean begins, “I wasn’t ready.” 

“That’s _not_ good enough,” Castiel says, “This is what you _do,_ Dean. You show up too late. You tell me after our damnable prom that you bought a fucking shirt, you text me four months too late with the offer off an explanation, and you say you know what you want when I have given up on you. I have _given up_ on you.”

“Cas.” 

“I'm deeply angry at you,” Castiel blurts out, before he's had a chance to regulate his words. Castiel is no good at emotions. He sits on them, passive and unresponsive, until they overthrow him and come spilling out in waves. Yes, he's angry at Dean, but he was happy with Dean not seeing that: happy that he would deal with that himself before bringing it to Dean. He was just happy, generally, happy that he had _something of Dean_. 

Dean swallows.

“I know I hurt you.” 

“You _hurt me_ , yes. You hurt me, but it’s not just that. You did it repeatedly, knowing exactly how I felt, without a damn explanation. After, after letting me believe that you were ready, this time, you just… you _I needed to know_ about the ‘situation’. I needed _context_ , Dean. I needed you to _fight me_ when I told you I was done. I needed a fucking explanation and you --- once again, you decided that it wasn't my decision. I do not _care_ if it comes from some self defeatist bullshit, Dean, I needed you to do _better_. And no, I don't think it would have changed things. I would have been angry at you. I would have _hurt_ , but I would have known _why_ I was hurting. I wouldn't have been left questioning my judgement for the last year, because there was no way I could have known _why_. You could have just _told me_ , but it was easier not to, so you picked the easier option. And I understand that, Dean, because your life has not been _easy_ , but I am angry at you. I don't trust you. I don't know how you can love me and give up.” 

“Okay,” Dean says, hoarse, “Okay. Let's talk about this.”

“I don't _want_ to talk about it. I want to _stop caring_ that you broke me -”

“ - you _broke me too_ , Cas,” Dean says, and _there’s_ Dean’s anger, again. “I asked you for some more time. You said you couldn't. I don't know what the hell else I could have done.” 

“You should have _fought harder_.”

“You say that now,” Dean says, voice still level, “But I don't think that's what you wanted. It sure as hell didn't feel like you wanted me to drag it out. You sounded like you were done. I was trying to give you what you asked, for _once_ in my life ---”

“You're _not the victim_ in this Dean.”

“Okay,” Dean says, reaching for him with a hand to the knee, “Okay, Cas. Explain how you feel. I'm listening.”

“No,” Cas says, jerking his leg out of the way and scraping back his chair to stand up. “I don't want to _talk_. I don't want to have this conversation, I just wanted some pie. I -- I should go.” 

“No,” Dean says, “Cas, you're not leaving in the middle of goddamn conversation. You don't get to _go_ because you're upset. We're talking this out.”

“I don’t _want_ to talk about this.”

“This is what I don't fucking get,” Dean says, “You say you wanna go, but if I let you go how the hell do I know you're not gonna not chew me out for not fighting you on? I'm not a goddamn mind reader, Castiel, I don't _know_ what you want if you don't tell me. You can't set up the rules of the game so I can never win. If I fight for you to stay I'm a fucking creep and if I don't I don't goddamn care enough. Make up your mind and tell me _what you want._. Do you want me to be goddamn honest about how I feel, or do you want me to make this easier on you?”

Cas stills.

“You say all this stuff about how I don't go for what I want, how I don't talk about how I feel, how I dodge this conversation, but goddamn Cas, sometimes you defer away from your own feelings so goddamn hard you don't work out what you _want_ until a month after the fact, and I can’t freaking keep up.”

“That's not my fault.”

“And _I get it_. I get that no one ever asked what you wanted or how you felt. I get that you didn't get your own free will for most of your childhood, but you've been out of there for a long time now, Castiel, and you need to sort out your crap too. I'm in love with you. I have been crazy in love with you since I was seventeen, and if that doesn't make a difference to how things are then I will _deal_ but, goddamn, you don't get to start pushing things back to how they were because you don't wanna deal with it. I can't go backwards, here. I can't go round in circles. This story got way too fucking long a long ass time ago, Cas. The reason the people who care about us roll their eyes whenever we do this shit is because it is dumb. All of it is dumb. If we were smarter, we'd have drawn a line under this by now - but I just, I can't seem to make it stick, but we gotta - gotta be sensible about this. If we've got no long distance and no pregnancy and no daddy issues pressing in and we still can't _talk about it_ then maybe it's just us - “

“Are you trying to give me an ultimatum?”

“No. No, damnit. I'm not saying you need to have it all figured out right now. We've got some freaking groundwork to do, all right, but I ---- I gotta know if you actually want to _try_.”

“Dean, I have waited for you to pull your head out of your ass twice now, and now it is my turn to _need time_.”

“But, Cas, that's what I'm freaking saying. If you need time, then okay, but - I shouldn't have made you wait in the goddamn first place, and giving it more time didn't help. It didn't help us. It just got things more freaking confusing and complicated and it meant you didn't trust me -”

“I _did_ trust you, Dean.”

“No,” Dean says, “Fuck, Cas, if we'd been together, together together, when I found out about Lisa I… I'm pretty damn sure we'd have split up, but you'd have heard me out, Cas, you'd have given me some goddamn time and--- and I was bad for you before, again, because I wasn't… I wasn't ready, because everything was so damn mixed up with Sam and my head but - I'm there now, Cas, I know I can be what you need now. I know that's what I want.”

“But then we’re back at the beginning. Then we’re back to you trying to be what someone else needs.”

“Cas, you know me. You _know so much_ about my flaws and my defence mechanisms. You don’t have some sugar coated version of who I am, and you love me anyway. Loved me, at least,” Dean corrects himself, the red flush on his neck turning scarlet. “Cas.”

_“You_ are the one that said love didn’t make a difference to our situation.”

“I’m a fucking idiot, Cas,” Dean says, “And — it _is_ different now. It … this shit ain’t a fairytale. It wasn’t enough when I had ten dollars to my name and we were eighteen and it _wouldn’t_ have been enough if I had a kid with some woman I met five minutes before we shacked up again, but — “

“Then you think your feelings are only worth something in this exact circumstance? Dean. Life is _complicated._ Something is going to change.”

“Then we’ll work it out.” 

“We _never have_ previously.”

“Cas” 

“Damnit, Dean, I don’t want to keep having this _same conversation with_ you for the rest of my life.”

“Well, I do,” Dean says, “If that’s how long it takes.”

Castiel blinks at him.

“I’m not _scared_ anymore, Cas.” Dean says, his voice low and intimate, “I’ve been scared every damn moment of my life since the fire that burned our world down, but, I built my own family, I earned every cent of the money in my bank account and I know how to make more —- I have _security._. I’ve never had that before, and it’s a fucking luxury that means I can think about this stuff, so this is what I’ve been thinking about. You. Us. It wasn’t meant to be a conversation for today, but there you go.”

“I suppose we’re going to discount this as one of our official dates,” Castiel says, looking down at his untouched pie and trying to regulate his thoughts. 

_Dean is in love with him, and he thinks they might just work_

“Right,” Dean says with an almost sad smile, that’s too coloured with frustration to really make it all the way to sad. “You just text me when you’ve had your time to think, or whatever, and we can take two on date three.” 

“Fine,” Castiel says. Dean loves him. Dean loves him. 

Dean picks up his fork and takes another bite of pie, and _there’s_ that smile Castiel was expecting.

“This really is fucking awesome,” Dean says. 

Castiel gives him his own slice too. 

* 

Of course, the first time Castiel runs into Sam Winchester on the Stanford Campus is the day after one of the most intense conversations of his life, and it is in the same damn coffee shop.

He is not quite fast enough to avoid him. 

“Cas, hey,” Sam says, calling after him. He’s with a pretty blonde girl that Castiel is assuming is his girlfriend, and he’s committed enough to speak to him that he offers her a brief wave then pulls his bag over his shoulder to hurry to Castiel’s side of the coffee shop. 

“Hello, Sam,” Castiel says uneasily, glancing back at his group. The girl (he thinks Dean said her name was Jess and that she’s much too good for him in a distinctly affectionate way that made it clear Dean doesn’t really consider anyone to be too good for his brother), has put on her headphones and is pouring over a textbook. It doesn’t look like she expects Sam to come back quickly. “I’m… I’m headed to the library.”

Clearly, Castiel’s lie is very transparent.

“I’ll walk with you,” Sam says.

“That’s — unnecessary.”

“We should catch up,” Sam continues. He’s taller than the last time Castiel saw him and his hair is even longer. He remembers Dean mentioning both of those things, but the result is that Sam looks more like an adult than Castiel has ever seen him. He’s more confident and stubborn too; clearly the past year has had a big impact on both Winchesters.

“Are you enjoying college?” Castiel says, stiffly.

“Yeah, it’s great,” Sam says, “Look, about Dean.”

“Sam,” Castiel interjects, ready to cut across him.

“He’s doing really well.”

“Yes,” Castiel says, “I’m aware of that.”

“Right. He said you guys had actually talked out a lot of stuff.”

“Did he?” 

“Yeah,” Sam says, “He also said you had a pretty rough conversation yesterday. He was worried that he pushed you too hard, and that you’re going to bolt on him again. He didn’t say the ‘again’ part. I’m adding that.”

“Our history is complicated, Sam.” 

“Yeah, I know,” Sam says, “I lived most of it. Only this time, Dean’s actually talking to me about it.”

“Sam,” 

“I’m just saying,” Sam says, “Dean may have forgotten about keys and leaving the continent after you agreed to be friends, but I haven’t.” 

“You’re unconvinced about our relationship,” Castiel says, giving up the presence of walking to the library to stop and face him. 

“I also remember you driving after him on his eighteenth birthday after our dad called, and I remember Dean refusing to talk about you for months after you left for college,” Sam says, “I thought you were good for him.” 

“In the past tense?” 

“Dean’s an idiot,” Sam says, affection dripping from every word. “He doesn’t let people in easily. This vulnerability thing doesn’t come easy for him, except with you, so I don’t know. I’ve given up trying to work it out.” 

“Sam. What do you want from this conversation?”

“Don’t lead him on,” Sam says, “Beneath the bravado and the give ‘em hell attitude he’s chronically insecure about the people he loves not wanting him around, and it’s crap, because Dean’s loyal to a fault and he’s been let down a lot by the people who should have treasured that. I’m not saying he didn’t screw up and I’m not saying you have to be prepared to forgive that, but if you’re not — end it now. Don’t drag it out.” 

“Okay,” Castiel says, fingers tightening on his coffee cup. “I will keep that in mind.”

“Great,” Sam says with a wide smile, “I should go get this pie to Dean before he kicks off,” he continues, nodding to the napkin covered slice of pie that Castiel hadn’t noticed he was carrying until now. “Good to see you, Cas.” 

Castiel is not entirely sure if he means it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise you we won’t keep going fluff, angst, fluff, angst forever, but —
> 
> Look at them communicate!


	7. Chapter 7

Winchesters have a frustrating ability to burrow their way into his thoughts and take residence there, and apparently, that includes Sam Winchester too, because he is right.

Their history stretches back much longer than Dean’s most recent mistake, and he had eliminated his own guilt in all of this in virtue of these new revelations from Dean. 

Castiel _hadn’t_ done that in the period of time where he ‘got over Dean Winchester’; he’d spent a great deal of time thinking about their full history and the mistakes that they’d both made, and the pitfalls that they were doomed to continue to fall down if they ever tried to make it work again, and he’d come to the conclusion that Dean - on some level - was right about them not being able to work. He’d concluded that Dean was _good_ and had cared about him a great deal, but that he hadn’t been able to offer something permanent and substantial because of who he was as a person and how his life was. He’d concluded that he wasn’t blameless in allowing himself to be heart broken again, because Dean had _warned him_ that he didn’t think that they could work it out, and Castiel had allowed himself to be pulled right back in anyway. It had been unwise, but he didn’t regret it, because it smacked of something about who he was as a person: someone not afraid of committing to someone they care about beyond when it’s sensible and someone who loved deeply and passionately. 

He had elected not to think about any of those things since coming face to face with Dean again. 

And… Dean had forgiven him for the way he threw a grenade into their relationship after they broke up. 

It had taken a long time and it had been frustrating and infuriating to be _so damn sorry_ , but for it not to make a difference to how Dean felt about all of it. It had been unnerving and difficult not to be able to pack away those hurts he had caused and make them not be _felt_ anymore. It felt like he was constantly on trial, waiting for Dean to work out whether he had the capacity to _move on_ from all of it. 

Dean _had_ forgiven him, just before everything blew up again. 

He called him from his car in the days after Christmas and he told Castiel he didn’t care about any of it anymore, and Castiel doesn’t know how he did it. On the other side, it seemed like it had to be simple. Either Dean could move on for it or he couldn’t, and that he should somehow _know_ before they even started. It was maddening when Dean refused to talk about it, but Castiel’s instinct was to try and shut the conversation down before his anger starter spilling out over the sides until it was all he could think about. 

Dean _hurt him_ , but… Castiel has hurt Dean too. 

It’s 2AM and he’s fed up of thinking about all of this with no where to direct his thoughts, so he pulls out his phone and begins to type out a message to Dean. This time last year, they did this all the time: send long, rambling messages at any given hour for them to be responded to when the other woke up. They spoke on the phone for hours a day. They were so _close_ , despite the distance and the arguments and Dean’s reluctance to put a label on _anything_ just like every single time before. 

_I know I need to make a decision , but I am finding the prospect of trusting you difficult._ Castiel types out, squinting at his phone to try and work out how to explain everything it is that’s going through his head. _It wasn’t my intention to snap at you after I pushed you into pouring out your feelings. That was dismissive and unkind._

He starts typing out _I’m glad you’re in love with me_ before changing his mind, and is trying to encapsulate the complicated, bitter feeling that is hearing all of those things after he’d concluded that he was never going to get them and he didn’t need him. 

What he’s not expecting is for Dean to call him before he can write anything else. 

“Hello, Dean,” 

“Hey,” Dean says, his voice soft and raspy and clearly indicative of him just waking up. It conjures up an imagine of Dean sleep-soft and lovely that he’s seen a number of times before and that he very, very much would like to experience again. 

“I woke you up.” 

“Little bit,” Dean yawns, “Don’t worry about it. Should’ve put my phone on silent. What’s the word, Cas?” 

“A shortened version of my name.” 

“Even cute at 2AM.” 

“It has occurred to me that I haven’t been very nice to you,” Castiel says into the darkness of his bedroom. Dean exhales on the other end of the phone. Castiel shuts his eyes and listens to his breathing on the other end of the line, and tries to envision his facial expression. 

“Cas,” Dean says, “Knew you were royally pissed off the second you told me to call you _Castiel_.” 

“You said you were in love with me and I yelled at you.” 

“Look, man, I’d rather you splurge out every single emotion in your head then cross over into Mr Robot and cut me off completely.” 

“Why?” Castiel breathes, because the concept of Dean preferring him splurging out his feelings at random and being unable to work out what is going to spark off old hurts and angers and what is going to result in nostalgia and affection in bizarre. It is completely infuriating to Castiel. He would _much_ rather be in control of his emotions and be able to speak to Dean without losing his damn mind. “Dean—- me feeling like this is so _inconvenient._ ” 

“Sweetheart, _this_ stop being convenient about five minutes after we met.” 

Castiel is quite sure that the pet name is a slip of the tongue, but he likes it. He could get used to Dean sleepy and unguarded, calling him ‘sweetheart’. Probably. 

“Okay, sure, if I could wave a magic wand and make you not pissed at me, maybe I’d do it, but, Cas, part of the damn reason I knew our relationship wouldn’t work the first time was cause you shut me down every time I upset you and wouldn’t freaking talk about. I’ll take you yelling at me about being a victim over you going all stoic.” “What are you doing?” Castiel asks, because he can hear Dean moving on his end of the call. 

“Uh, coffee,” Dean says, “If we’re gonna talk…” 

“I could come over.” 

“Call me a romantic, Cas, but the first time you come over to my place I want it to be cause I’m cooking you dinner, and the first time I want you to stay the night is cause we’ve had red hot, electric sex, not because it’s 2am and you’re having feelings about everything.” 

The words _red hot, electric sex_ reverberate around his brain for a few long seconds. 

“I’ve been to all of your places before, Dean.” 

“Yeah, but I actually _like_ this one,” Dean says, “Got pictures stuck on the fridge and everything.” 

“Dean,” Castiel exhales, listening as he flicks on the coffee machine. It’s brings him far too much relief to think of Dean living in a place he loves, and much too much affection to think of Dean wanting to cook him dinner. “I’m very glad you’re happy. That’s what I wanted for you.” 

“I know.” 

“I,” Castiel begins, “I find it difficult to _trust_ what you’re saying to me, about things being different.” 

“Yeah. Been there.” 

“How did you forgive me, last time?” 

“Huh,” Dean says, “Sam nagging some sense into me, I guess.” 

“Sam?” Castiel says, “I thought Sam wasn’t on board with our relationship, last time.” 

“Sam wants whatever the hell it is that’ll make me happy,” Dean says, “He just changes his mind ‘bout how you fit in with that, sometimes. Yeah, the second I got back from that road trip he gave me hell about letting myself get back into this with you. Actually, he was giving me shit for it before I even drove to you, then --- I get back and then he rides my ass for it for _months_. Then on Christmas freaking day, he cornered me and I told him you weren’t coming to visit in January anymore and he flipped out. _You don’t talk to someone for hours every day and not know what you want, Dean. You don’t care what happened last time. Go to connecticut, Dean. Call it a relationship. Do something for yourself, Dean._ ” Dean says, in a falsely high pitched voice that sounds absolutely nothing like his brother. “And the damn problem with Sam, is that’s he’s usually fucking right. And --- I looked at all of it, properly, and I was missing you like crazy and I just wanted to fuckin’ talk to you, and I realised I cared about _that_ a lot more than you skipping the contitent to try and protect yourself.” 

“What does he think now?” 

“He told me he ran into you, dude,” Dean says, his voice soft and amused. 

“Oh,” Castiel says, turning on the lamp next to his bed and sitting up straight, “I didn’t know that.” 

“Saw right through it when he bought me pie.” 

“I still want to know what he thinks.” 

“Does it matter?” 

“You’ve just said that ‘he’s usually fucking right’, so I am interested in his perspective.” 

“He thinks I should work out where you’re at before I get too invested in this, to protect myself,” Dean says, “Problem is, that’s what _both_ of us did last time, and it sunk. Bad.” 

“You don’t think I trusted you before,” Castiel says, because that was one of the most infuriating things that Dean said over their coffee. It was archetypal frustrating Dean, with bolshy, certain claims to know exactly how Castiel is feeling and why he was always right to say their relationship would never work, even though his arrogant assurance of doom was usually half the reason they were doomed to fail. He vividly remembers how he felt in the phone conversation where he ended it with Dean Winchester and it _hurt_ because Dean shattered the faith that Castiel had put in him and because Castiel felt like an imbecile for not seeing it coming when everyone told him it would happen. 

“You didn’t,” Dean says, with maddening confidence given he is describing Castiel’s emotional state. “Not by the end. I’m not saying I deserved anything else, but you didn’t trust me.” 

“Explain.” 

“Cas. We were talking a couple of times a day, and then I told you I had to go in the middle of a call, and you didn’t try again. You didn’t freaking text asking what was going on, or call, or anything. You radio silenced me.” 

“The onus was on _you to call me_ , Dean.” 

“Yeah,” Dean says, and he sounds sad again, “And my world was imploding, again, and I let you down. Cas, what was going on in your head?” 

“I was _thinking_ that my Uncle had just had a heart attack and that I wanted you to give me a hug.” “You could’ve just driven to my place, Cas,” Dean says, “You could’ve called again when you landed in Kansas City. You could’ve text and asked what the hell had happened, but you’d already got to this place in your head where I wasn’t going to be there for you.” 

“Dean, you _weren’t_. I’m aware there were circumstances beyond your control, but you were not there for me.” 

“I know,” Dean says, “And I didn’t _say_ that I don’t get it, or that it wasn’t a fair assumption, but your head jumped straight back to that place where I was avoiding you, on purpose, because you didn’t believe everything I _said_ about wanting to see you and wanting all of this to work out. You didn’t trust me to come through for me. You were _expecting_ me to let you down and the first time it looked like that might happen, you didn’t give me a second chance to prove me wrong. You let it fester. You didn’t call _at all_ , Cas, and -- okay, yeah, it was fucked that it took me that long to call you and talk it out, but…. How long were going to leave it?” 

“Do you blame me?” 

“No,” Dean says, “I don’t. I didn’t give you a reason to trust me. I get that.” 

“Dean,” Castiel says, head against the wall behind his bed as he shuts his eyes. “What are we doing?” 

“Think the kids call it _seeing each other_ ,” Dean says, “Somewhere between we just met and actually dating.” 

“That’s not really what I meant.” 

“I figured,” Dean says, “Maybe this is too hard, I dunno, but it’s also kinda awesome.” 

“Are we ‘seeing each other’ exclusively?” 

“I can hear the air quotes from here,” Dean says, “And I’m sure as shit not interested in anyone else. I mean, you — you don’t owe me anything, but I -” 

“ - Dean. I owe you plenty. I haven’t been interested in anyone else since I ran into you.” 

“Awesome,” Dean breathes, “Cas, I -” 

“— I don’t think I want to hear it again yet,” Castiel says, even though that’s unfair and the exact opposite of what he’s asked for years. 

“That’s not what I was gonna say,” Dean says, voice low, and gentle and intimate, “You still up for Thursday?” 

“Our third date,” 

“Don’t go getting any ideas, Cas.” 

“I am beyond ideas; I have fully fledged designs.” 

“You in bed?” Dean asks. 

“What are you wearing?” 

Dean huffs a laugh down the other end of the phone. 

“Night, Cas.” 

“I’ll see you on Thursday.” 

“Sleep well,” Dean says, “Forget about all of this for tonight. We’ll work it out at some point.” 

“Okay,” Cas says, “Goodnight, Dean.” 

_We’ll work it out._

* 

It isn’t the intention to end up at Dean’s garage, but then he finds himself outside his place of work with two take away coffees and a very strong sense that he would rather explain that he has to bail on their date later in person. 

As it turns out, Dean is with a customer when Castiel first gets there, and he ends up waiting for five minutes or so with the eyes of some of Dean’s colleagues fixed on his back. 

When he emerges, Dean is wearing a shirt and a suit jacket over his jeans, and it throws Castiel completely. He looks _very good_ and entirely different to how Castiel was expecting him. All the previous occasions he saw Dean at a garage he was distinctly less put together. 

“Someone here to see you, Winchester,” 

“Oh --- hey, Cas,” Dean says, face breaking out into a smile. 

“I bought you coffee.” 

“Awesome,” Dean says, “Guys, this is Cas,” Dean says without further explanations “Follow me,” Dean says with a jerk of a head, as Castiel follows him through a door with Dean’s name on it. 

Castiel hands him the coffee as he looks round Dean’s office. It’s very small, but there’s a photo of Sam at his high school graduation and a collection of magazines with classic cars stacked on the window. There’s just enough room for both of them. 

“Sweet,” Dean says, as he pulls the lid off the coffee just to breathe in the scent, “The coffee here sucks.” 

“You mentioned,” Castiel says, which makes Dean’s smile broaden beautifully. “You have an office.” 

“I mean, kinda,” Dean says, “It’s a cupboard with a desk, but… Just been trying to talk this guy into letting us try and restore his shell of a Chevy.” 

“Hence the shirt,” 

“Yep,” Dean says, drinking half of his coffee in two gulps, before standing off and starting to shrug off the jacket. There turns out to be a hanger and the oil splattered T-shirt Castiel was expecting in one of his desk drawers, which he slips it onto. “Dunno if he’ll go for it or not.” 

“You are very charming,” 

“Like to think so,” Dean grins, as he starts unbuttoning his shirt, “So, you just here to deliver coffee?” 

“No,” Castiel says, eyes fixed on the inches of Dean’s skin that are revealed with each button. He is unfairly gorgeous, and it is very, very, distracting. “I had the lack of foresight to choose to act as TA for the most popular philosophy undergraduate course of the semester for my teaching requirement, and now I have twenty eight papers to mark before their final seminar, which is on Monday.” 

“You need to bump tonight?” Dean asks, as he shrugs off the button down and adds it to the hanger and reaches for his t-shirt. 

“Don’t feel the need to re-dress on my behalf,” Castiel says, gaze skimming over Dean’s chest. “This is fine.” 

“Now who's freaking charming?” Dean says, as he pulls on his t-shirt, “Don’t pout at me, Cas, you’re the one cancelling our date.” 

“Rescheduling,” Castiel says, “I didn’t want you to think I was blowing you off.” 

The ‘given what happened in our last attempt at a date’ is implicit. 

“Hence the coffee,” 

“Yes,” Castiel says, “Plus a heavy dose of procrastination. Are you free early next week?” 

“Uh,” Dean says, sitting down on the edge of his desk, “We fly back to Kansas for Christmas first thing on Wednesday, and I’ve got a work Christmas thing on Monday night.” 

“Tuesday?” 

“When I say first thing, I mean the ass crack of freaking dawn,” Dean says, “And Tuesday is blocked out for freaking the fuck out.” 

“I could hold your hand,” 

“Fuck off,” Dean says, good naturedly, “I’m off work, so could do the morning.” 

“That’s when my last classes are,” Castiel says, “I need to give you your Christmas present.” 

“Not gonna throw it away this year?” Dean asks, with much more good humour than Castiel thinks he really should do about Castiel throwing out Dean’s gift from last year. 

He’d been in two minds about whether to buy Dean a gift in the first instance, given their relatively undefined status, and then has spiraled into despair about where to _pitch_ the gift. 

He’s fully capable of buying Dean something sentimental and meaningful, but he doesn’t know whether he currently means it, or whether he wants to mean it. Sam Winchester is still right; he needs to make his mind up before he leads Dean on, if ultimately he can’t forgive him. Intense gestures and declarations from Castiel will only make things more complicated and, _anyway_ he doesn’t know what Dean is going to buy him. If Dean buys him a sweater and Castiel buys him something as lovely and thoughtful as his fountain pen and notebook, he will feel exposed and raw and more confused than ever. 

And… Dean apologised for his declaration of love making this situation more intense. He expressed that he didn’t want them be juggling all or nothing; that he didn’t want to put the big, scary reality of his feelings out there until Castiel had indicated he wanted to hear it. 

Castiel said he wanted to know exactly what was going on in Dean’s head, so Dean said it. 

It seemed much more likely that Dean would buy him something casual and nice than gratuitously affectionate, which led to another wave of frustration and confusion about everything. 

In the end, he asked Hannah and Kelly for their opinion and settled on buying a relatively low end bottle of whiskey that he know Dean buys for himself, because not buying anything at all said too much, and buying him the Metallica travel mug he found while scouting the internet said too much in a different away. 

“We’ll see,” Castiel says, “I have a half an hour gap between lectures.” 

“Pie and presents?” 

“Okay,” Castiel says, trying and failing to deny himself smiling over the childish joy packed into Dean’s voice over the thought of pie and presents. 

“Probably gonna be a total freaking mess, just so you know.” 

“I’ve seen you at an airport Dean.” 

“Fair,” Dean says, rolling back his shoulders, picking up his coffee. “Really need this guy to let us fix up his car. Got this gig by pitching to the manager that I could help him break into car restoration, which so far as been a total freaking disaster.” 

“You haven’t been here very long, Dean.” 

“Guess so,” Dean says, “Still.” 

“Do you need to get back to work?” 

“Do you?” Dean throws back, “Probably. Thanks for the coffee, Cas.” 

“My pleasure,” Castiel says, leaning forwards to kiss them. It feels like it’s been a long time since they’ve kissed, and it’s good. He tastes like coffee and Dean rests his hands on Castiel’s hips, and Castiel knots his arms around Dean’s neck and falls into it. 

“Workplace, Cas,” Dean mutters, pulling back, “I’ll walk you to your car.” 

They have to walk back through the garage to get to Castiel’s car, and Castiel can feel eyes on him as they exit Dean’s office. 

“Hey, Winchester,” One of Dean’s colleagues calls across the garage, “That your boyfriend’s car out back?” He asks, smirking broadly. Apparently mocking Castiel’s car (which is completely fine) is in inherent for those who work with cars. 

“Told you your car was gonna ruin my street cred , Cas,” Dean says, “I ain’t defending it.” 

It is also worth noting that he has made no attempt to defend himself against the label of ‘boyfriend’, which either means that Dean has mentioned he’s been seeing Castiel, or his colleagues are very presumptuous, but regardless means that Dean’s knee jerk reaction to the concept of them being in a relationship isn’t denial. 

“There’s nothing wrong with my car.” 

“It _upsets_ me that you think that.” 

“Cas, is it?” One of the guys asks, “You coming to our Christmas do tomorrow?” 

“Next time,” Dean answers for him, resting a hand on Cas’ back like it’s the most natural thing in the world, “ Better get you back to marking.” 

“You didn’t invite me to your work thing.” 

“Figured given we currently have fifty percent success rate of not winding up yelling at each other, felt like a bad idea to invite in an audience,” Dean says, “Plus, they’ll give you hell.” 

“I don’t want not to see you for two weeks,” Castiel frowns, “Is that ridiculous?” 

“No,” Dean says, “We’ve done the long distance shit before and it sucked. Don’t really want to not see you either, but —- it is two weeks.” 

“Yes,” 

“And— pie and presents.” 

“This is true,” Castiel says, “I’m sorry about tonight.” 

“If you’ve gotta get some work done, you’ve gotta get work done,” Dean half smiles, “Gives me chance to pack, anyway.” 

“I very much doubt you will spend the evening packing,” 

“Eh. You may be right,” Dean says, kissing him again, before tapping the hood of his car exactly like he did when Castiel drove to Yale. 

* 

Dean offers him a wide, easy smile when he opens his bottle of whiskey Christmas present, and he gifts Castiel a laptop case (‘because yours is falling the fuck apart, dude’) which is exactly the right level of not too personal and thoughtful that makes their ‘seeing each other’ seem entirely manageable. 

And then they kiss, and Castiel remembers that he has been hopelessly infatuated with Dean Winchester since he was seventeen, and it becomes much less mangeable. 


	8. Chapter 8

For the first few days of Dean Winchester’s trip back to Lawrence for the holidays, Castiel gets a steady stream of text messages and calls. At first it’s about the ‘flight from hell’ (which, as far Castiel can work out, was a perfectly ordinary flight) and then complaining about suddenly being required to share living quarters with Sam, Jo, Ellen and Bobby, until it falls into a steady rhythm of talking about _not a whole lot_. Castiel’s classes finish and then both of them have a lot more _time_ than either of them have managed whilst they were actually in the same state. He’s becoming accustomed to falling back into a ‘light’ version of their long distance relationship routine, and then the messages dry up until almost nothing.

It is, as often the way with Dean Winchester, utterly maddening and indecipherable. 

*

“Dean troubles,” Gabriel suggests, as Castiel checks whether his phone is accidentally on silent for the fifth time in fifteen minutes (it isn’t, obviously) and debates whether to just text Dean _himself_. Castiel text him several hours ago expressing that he hopes Dean has a good Christmas Eve, but has had nothing in response.

“Gabriel, don’t start,” Castiel sighs, accepting the glass of wine that Gabriel offers to him with a grimace. They are supposed to be starting a family game of monopoly (which sounds terrible), but everyone except Hester is finding excellent ways to procrastinate beginning the game. First, Anna decided that she was still hungry, then Gabriel decided it was time for them to open a second bottle of wine, and now they are waiting for Inias to get changed. 

“You haven’t updated us on the latest,” Gabriel says.

“That’s because there isn’t much more to say.”

“So, you _haven’t_ jumped his bones yet?”

“No,” Castiel says with false dignity, given _that_ has very much been Dean’s call. “We are trying not to _complicate_ things.”

Gabriel snorts.

“Sounds like classic Dean bullcrap to me,” 

“I think it’s nice,” Anna says, watching him over him over her glass of wine with a small smile. He has grown much closer to Anna than he thought would be possible when he first moved into her room with the sense that he would always be an afterthought addition to the Miltons, and that she would never truly consider him part of the family unit the way that they did. He underestimated Anna’s generosity and goodness, and he’s done it again now. Castiel hadn’t anticipated her support. 

“That’s because you haven’t peeled Cassie off the floor in the aftermath,” Gabriel says, “And the paint fumes have turned your brain mushy.”

“Gabriel, it’s called being _romantic_.”

“Romance. Three break ups is romantic?” 

“There’s a reason the phrase is homeless romantic,” Anna says, “You aren’t supposed to help how you feel.”

“But you can help what you do about it,” Gabriel says, “Which is what we’re discussing here.”

“We haven’t broken up three times,” Castiel adds, frowning at the (now empty) plate in front of him. “We’ve broken up once by Dean’s definition, and twice by mine. And _must_ we discuss it?”

“Once when you were kids and once last January?” Anna says. “I don’t know if I know the details of the in between time.”

“It wasn’t my finest hour,” Castiel says, chasing a crumb of christmas cookie on his plate with his thumb. When he looks up Anna is sending him a clear ‘spill’ look, and he usually gives in to what Anna wants from him. “We slept together when I came home for Thanksgiving during my first year at Yale and I left in the middle of the night, without the key to his apartment —”

“You had a key?”Anna says, “That's very serious for two eighteen year olds.”

“Cassie spent half of that summer at Dean’s place,” Gabriel says, “Mom hated it.”

“Did you?” Castiel asks, turning to Hester with his eyebrows raised. She’d paused in trying to propel the game forward while Inias gets changed to unload the dishwasher and now falls still under his scrutiny. This is news to Castiel. He doesn’t really know _what_ he thought Hester felt about his early relationship with Dean, or whether it occurred to him to think of her feelings about it at all. 

“I had concerns,” Hester says, forehead creasing, “Castiel, I liked Dean very much, but I was concerned about the decision you might make based on those feelings, rather than your future.”

“Like?”

“Like not go to Yale,” Hester says, “Castiel, I love you like a son, but I am not your mother and I have no right to tell you want to do.” 

“You have every right that a mother has,” Castiel says, “My priority was my education. I knew I was going to school.” 

“If he asked you not to?” Hester asks, fixing him with that gaze that makes him pause for a moment. The concept is unthinkable. It’s the exact opposite of what Dean has always done. Dean has always pushed him away rather than drawn him closer. He has always been so afraid of Castiel making a decision based on what _Dean_ wants that he wouldn’t say anything even adjacent to how he felt. 

At least, that’s how Dean _used_ to be. The Dean who declared that he was in love with him in a coffee shop didn’t seem to have such qualms, and Castiel still does not know what to do with that. 

“Dean would never have asked that.”

“Perhaps not,” Hester says, “but people can be selfish when they are desperate, Castiel, and Dean didn’t exactly have a stable life at that point in time,” Hester says, setting the monopoly board in the middle of the table and looking at him carefully. “Castiel, you skipped school to drive to him when he went missing. You never broke rules before Dean, you were the most obedient child I’ve ever met, and then you are vehemently debating boundaries and spending most of your time in his apartment. You must remember this was when you weren’t communicating with us about how you felt or what was going on. Your father had just disappeared, and you were passionately committed to an eighteen year old boy with no family and no home. I had my concerns, and then you broke up and I had other concerns.” 

“I didn’t know that,” Castiel says, “Dean detested being in that flat alone. He hated it.” 

“You said they condemned it , later.” 

“Yes,” Castiel says, “but not after he spent a winter with no working cooker. I — I didn’t like the thought of him being alone in that apartment.”

“That, and you were hormone crazed teenagers with a permanent free house,” Gabriel pipes up.

“That too,” Castiel agrees.

“So you left his key.” Anna prompts.

“Yes,” Castiel says, “And then I rang him to apologise a month later. I went to his apartment, we slept together and then I yelled at him, a lot. And then —- in the summer we met up.”

“And Castiel jumped his bones again,” Gabriel substitutes. 

“And we agreed to be friends,” Castiel says, “And then I realised that I was incapable of being friends with Dean Winchester, and I went to England for the summer with Mick and Meg.”

“And didn’t tell Dean he was skipping the continent,” Gabriel says, “Leaving me to foot in mouth and tell him that you’d disappeared.”

“Yes,” Castiel says, looking at his hands, “And then I accidentally drunk dialled him nearly three years later and he drove all the way from Indiana to make sure I was okay.” 

“After all that?” Anna frowns, her forehead creased. “He must really love you.”

“And _then_ he refused to commit to a relationship and then dumped you over the phone, without telling you the reason why.” Gabriel says, “I’ve told you before, Cassie, I don’t doubt Dean has feelings for you, I doubt that he’s _good_ for you.” 

“Unarguably, we have both fucked up,” Castiel says, glancing up as Inias renters the room in his dressing gown. He has gone to the effort of showering to try and delay monopoly, which is a much stronger commitment than any of the rest of them have gone to.

“What are we discussing?” Inias asks, taking the seat opposite Castiel.

“Dean,” Gabriel supplies, “Look, Cuz, you take it in turns to fuck up on a merry go round of misery. Can you honestly say that, overall, Dean has made you happy more than he’s made you miserable?”

“That’s not the only thing to consider,” Castiel says, “Gabriel, I was unhappy anyway. Yes, Dean expounded a great number of my insecurities, but that doesn’t mean that they were his fault. Or even my fault. We have been a victim of terrible timing. What was he supposed to do when a woman he slept with shows up out of the blue saying she’s pregnant?”

“Tell you, for a goddamn start.”

“Yes. That would have been better, and that’s what I’m trying to work out if I can forgive.” 

“Why should you?”

“Because he forgave everything I did.”

“Two wrongs don’t equal forgiveness. When Kali and I both slept with someone else, it didn’t mean we were even, it meant our relationship was a joke,” Gabriel says, which is almost new information. He wasn’t quite sure of what the final episode in that saga had consisted of, only that Gabriel committed to rebounding hard, with whoever would take him, for awhile before he settled back into his usual self. 

“He’s apologised,” Castiel says acidly, “What else is he supposed to do?”

“Leave you alone,” 

“He lives two blocks away.”

“Then _move._ ” Gabriel says. 

“I suppose I don’t have to ask your position on Dean.”

“Cassie,” Gabriel says, “He was my best friend once. I know he’s a good guy, but he’s apologised before. If he does the same thing — “

“Yes,” Castiel counters, “But what if he _doesn’t?_ ”

“It looks the same from here,” Gabriel says, “You don’t know what’s going on in your relationship and you’re waiting for him to text you. He’s set this ‘start again’ pace as another excuse not to promise you anything.”

“He’s committed to not seeing anyone else.” 

“Minimum fucking requirement,” Gabriel says, “If it works out, then yeah Cassie, that’s pretty damn great, but how do you know that anything is going to be different?”

“He is _different_.” 

“I’ve heard that before.” 

“I know you have,” Castiel says, “Gabriel, if I believed everything he said, I would be incredibly happy right now.”

“But you don’t?”

“I don’t know,” Castiel says, “Because we _have_ been here before, and I have been wrong before. Dean doesn’t find words particularly easy, but he still seems to find them easier than action or commitment.”

“So,” Anna says, “You ask him for a commitment. And if he can’t give that to you, then you walk away.” 

“An ultimatum.” 

“Yes,” Anna says, “In or out.”

“The problem with that,” Castiel says, forehead creasing, “Is that I don't know if I _want_ a commitment from him.”

“Cassie,” Gabriel sighs, “Who are you kidding?” 

“Why must everyone assume that they know more about my own feelings than I do?” Castiel asks, “ _What_ leads you to be so sure of what I want? Tell me, Gabriel, because I would like to know exactly _how_ I feel about Dean Winchester. I’m sure it will be _illuminating_.”

“Well for a start, you’re completely, hopelessly in love with him,” Gabriel says.

Castiel blinks at him.

“He has a point, Castiel,” Anna says, gently, “I’m not saying you were wrong when you said you were over him, but things are different now. The situation is different.” 

“Jury’s still out on that, from my perspective,” Gabriel says, raising a hand.

“It’s _different_ because you wanted to get over him before, Castiel, and now you just want various parts of your history not to have happened so you can justify being with him again,” Anna says.

“Castiel,” Hester says, “I think…. Dean’s reasons for breaking things off have always been practical ones rather than emotional ones, and he hasn’t always had the luxury of thinking beyond the practical. My concerns about your relationship were for _both of you_ , Castiel, because --- he did a very good job of hiding it, but Dean didn’t have anything he could depend on, and he was terrified. And then you offered him your painfully sincere commitment and care. You made him feel _secure_ , Castiel, and even as your guardian it it was difficult to begrudge that of a teenager alone in the world, but you _can’t_ depend on another teenager who is _also_ insecure and afraid. Dean knew that. He was always much more aware of the bigger picture than you.”

“You’re defending his lack of commitment?”

“Castiel, I am not saying anything about his methods of handling things, I just don’t think you truly understand what it’s like to live in survival mode. I don’t wish to belittle your experiences, Castiel, but you _do not know_ what it’s like to not know where you’re going to sleep at night, or how you’re going to feed yourself. Once you start thinking like that, it’s a difficult thing to break.”

“You think I should forgive him?”

“That’s not what I said, Castiel,” Hester sighs, “Dean has always had oversensitive strategies in place to protect himself emotionally, whilst you have generally had no survival instincts when it comes to your emotional wellbeing at all. What I _meant_ is that I’ve never had any doubt that Dean loves you. I _want you_ to do what will make you happy in the long run, with due care to protect yourself.”

“Castiel,” Inias begins, “You’re strong enough to suffer another heartbreak. You just need to work out if the risk of that it worse than the risk of regret.” 

He’s not used to Inias voicing his opinion. He tends to be steady, secure and silent. For a moment, the words settle over the table, and then - 

“You can regret both ways,” Gabriel interjects, “Sometimes, you have to wake up and smell the bullshit, Cassie.”

“If he _is_ ready to be what Castiel needs --” 

“Isn’t it time to start the game?” Castiel asks, loud enough to drown out Anna and Gabriel bickering over his lovelife. 

“Yes,” Hester declares brightly, as three pairs of eyes fix on Castiel with district irritation. 

Dean sends him a vague ‘you too’ approximately an hour later. Castiel opts not to reply. 

*

The not silent but _quiet_ treatment lasts until New Years Eve, and then Dean calls him.

“Heeeeyyyyyy, Cas,” Dean drawls, and Castiel flicks the phone onto speaker mode and picks up his pen to continue noting down different research texts he could bring into his thesis. Dean being standoffish and then drunk dialling him after most of a week of no contact doesn’t endear him to giving this conversation his full attention, and has made Anna’s concept of an ultimatum sound much more tempting.

In or out.

Dean has always set the tone of their relationship. He has decided the pace and the boundaries and the stand off points, and something about reclaiming that has an immense amount of pull. If their relationship is going to change, then the dynamic of it _has to change_.

Dean is right that sometimes it takes Castiel so long to establish what it is that he’s feeling that his actions have already spilt anger and hurts out all over the place. Hester is right that Castiel has an underdeveloped sense of self preservation, and Meg was right when she said that Castiel was ‘too fucking amenable, and that’s not a compliment Clarence’. None of that is new information, and none of that aided their last attempts at a relationship. 

Sam Winchester warned Castiel not to lead Dean on, but Castiel isn’t sure if he trusts the problem isn’t the other way round. Dean is so hot then cold, and infuriating, and so difficult to read about the things that Castiel wants to understand the most, that Castiel doesn’t know if he really believes it when Dean says he’s changed.

He wants proof. He wants to be secure in his decision. He doesn’t want to juggle regrets and pain; he wants to know whether Dean’s words about knowing what Castiel needs and being able to deliver on it is propaganda or truth. 

“Hello Dean,” 

“Man, your voice is hot.”

Castiel glances at the time on his phone, does the quick math about the time difference and frowns.

“Isn’t it too early in the festivities to be drunk, Dean?”

“Yeah,” Dean says, “Turns out, I suck at shots poker. Freakin’ Jo. Is --- is now okay to talk?”

“I suppose,” Castiel says.

“Awesome,” Dean breathes, “I miss you.” 

“You know, there is something you could have done about that,” Castiel returns, setting his pen down and leaning back on his chair, “ _Text me_.”

“Didn’t think you wanted me to,” Dean says, “Whatcha up to, Cas?”

“I’m trying to plan a section of my thesis,” Castiel says, purposefully keeping his voice stiff, although Dean is probably too tipsy to notice that Castiel is irritated. _Didn’t think you wanted me to_. It’s a vague, nonsensical excuse that isn’t good enough.

Why wouldn’t Castiel want Dean to text him?

“Dude, it’s New Year’s Eve. Why hasn’t Gabe forced a couple a’ beers down your throat?”

“I’m in Palo Alto,” Castiel says.

“Wait, already?” Dean says, “Figured you’d be with your folks until school started back up.”

“That was the plan,” Castiel says, “But, I am very behind on my thesis, and the holidays have a distinct advantage of _no other students in the library_. So, I am hibernating with my books.”

“You’re gonna go have some _fun_ through, right?”

“Yes, there’s a faculty party in a few hours,”

“Okay, awesome,” Dean says “Talk to me about your thesis.”

“You don’t care about this, Dean.”

“Hey, I care. Ecofeminism, right?”

“You remember that?” Castiel asks, some of his irritation lessening. Dean is sweet, if maddening.

“Cas, sweetheart, pretty sure I remember every damn word you’ve ever said to me.”

Castiel’s chest twists. 

“Are you with your family right now?”

“What? Oh, no,” Dean says, “Sat in one of the cars in Bobby’s junkyard. Wanted to talk to you.”

“About?”

“Whatever,” Dean says, “Your thesis. Your Christmas. How much you wanna kiss me at midnight.”

And, Castiel’s resolve to remain annoyed crumbles. Obviously. 

“This is true,” Castiel acknowledges, “Perhaps next year.”

“Really?” Dean breathes, “That would be _awesome_.”

It is an appealing idea that takes root into a full blown daydream at Dean’s enthusiasm for it. Spending Christmas with Dean, rather than with his family dissecting their history. Dean being the only one to support Hester in her plan of board games because he’s still trying to win over her support; Castiel taking on Jo Harvelle at ‘shots poker’ as the new year gets closer. Actually getting to see in the new year with Dean, rather than calling him after everyone else had gone to bed like last year.

(And, remembering Dean tearing out an ‘I love you’ in the middle of the night last year makes a lump swell in the back of his throat. It’s almost a year to the day that Dean declared that he’d forgiven him for all of it. Why do they always have such terrible timing?)

“You’re cute when you’re drunk, Dean.”

“You’re cute, always,” Dean throws back, “Not _drunk_. Not saying I would drive a car, but I’m not _drunk_ , drunk. S’Jo’s fault. That chick’s got mad poker skills.” 

“I’m writing my notes with the pen you bought me,” Castiel says, giving up the pretence of working to listen to Dean’s voice. It’s soft and sweetened by alcohol and… it is New Year’s Eve. Last year he spent a lot of the time wanting to talk to Dean and being unable to, and now he can. Even if he hasn’t decided what he wants, he can enjoy this. 

“You opened it?” Dean asks, his words curling with warmth and sentiment. Castiel hadn’t realised he’d never mentioned it. It hadn’t occurred to him that Castiel has been so tight lipped about how he _feels_ that he didn’t mention that.

_Didn’t think you wanted me to_.

Perhaps, that _is_ an understandable excuse. Dean has poured out his feelings and Castiel has done very little and…. Gabriel is right. He is in love with Dean. Obviously, he’s in love with Dean — he wasn’t even trying to deny it, really, he just hadn’t been thinking about it — but there’s no reason Dean would know that. Castiel kissed him, but physical attraction is very different to romantic attraction, and he has expressed almost nothing about the latter. 

One day I will find the right words, and they will be simple. 

“Yes,” Castiel says, “Dean, I loved it. It was an exquisite gift.”

He can almost hear Dean smiling down the end of the phone. It’s just an audible crackle of breath, but Castiel knows the curve of the mouth that accompanied that breath. Knows the way he’s pose his eyebrows. 

“When can I see you?” Dean asks, quiet and soft and --- yes, Castiel wants to see him. He _aches_ with it. He’s ached with longing for Dean for a long time, but he quashed it with reasoning that there was no chance that it could ever work, and that they were doomed, but ---

_Maybe they aren’t_.

“When do you get back?”

“Thursday,”

“Friday,” Castiel says without really thinking it through, but that’s a very good idea. He was originally due to be driving back on Saturday, and Anna has an appointment booked at a store halfway between Plato Alto and LA for them to try on tuxes for her wedding. The original intention was for it to be a midpoint on his journey home, but now he is driving down there purely for the appointment and dinner with his family. If he poses an ultimatum to Dean (which he might), he has a mini retreat with his family already booked in to recover from the aftermath. 

“Gonna cook you dinner.”

“That sounds excellent.”

“Awesome,” Dean says, “Should get back. Enjoy your party.”

“I will,”

“Not too much,” Dean says, “No freaking countdown kissing.”

“I have been claimed for a platonic cheek kiss by a freshly dumped classmate. How’s that?”

“I’m gonna need a signed waiver. Guaranteed no romantic intentions. ” 

“I’ll get on that,” Castiel says, “You too, Dean, don’t let that Jo get any ideas.”

“She definitely shot me down the last time I suggested that,” Dean laughs, “And the girl collects knives.”

“Interesting,” Castiel says, “Enjoy your evening, Dean.”

“You too, Cas,” 

Afterwards, Castiel trawls back through the messages and tries to see them through Dean’s perspective. After Dean started taking longer to respond and saying less, Castiel’s tone shifts. He becomes icier and more distant. _He_ starts taking longer to reply in protest, and then Dean texts him less, sends shorter replies in response… 

_Didn’t think you wanted me to_.

This is the problem with ‘seeing each other’ because neither of them know the rules. In this bizarre land where dates can be rearranged the recategorised when they go badly, he has absolutely no idea where they stand. Castiel isn’t talking about his feelings because he doesn’t know if he believes Dean’s words without action to back it up, but what if Dean isn’t committing to that action because he doesn’t know what Castiel feels? 

Castiel rips a page out of his notebook and drafts out a signed waiver because he thinks it’s amusing, and Dean has generally enjoyed his tendency to take things too seriously. He photographs it and texts it to Dean when he’s done. 

_just spilt my whisky laughing too hard and that_. 

Castiel sends the blowing a kiss emoji back, and within minutes Dean sends him back the heart eyes. Given he knows how much Dean actively dislikes emojis as a whole, the warmth of the gesture spreads all the way down to his toes.

After that, they text constantly. 

*

“Can I ask you a question?” Castiel asks, mid phone call three nights before Dean is due to cook him dinner. He hasn’t made his own decision about whether to pose an ultimatum yet, but he has spent some timing mining into the depths of his feelings for Dean to try and understand them. Yes, he’s in love with him, but he’s not quite sure where his frustration with Dean comes from. It tends to spill out unexpectedly ( _no one calls me Cas; I'm deeply angry at you_ ), but he doesn’t know _why_. “What did it feel like when you were homeless?”

Dean exhales. It would have been better to have this conversation in person, where Castiel could have tempered the question with a hand to his knee. This would have been a good thing to talk about after they’d finally slept together, when Dean’s barriers were down, and he’d fallen into that sleepy intimacy that he would probably deny ever happens. It’s important, though. It feels like he understands a great deal about Dean Winchester, but this is the missing piece of the puzzle: where the unexpected decisions and the unfathomable priorities come from.

“You don’t have to tell me,”

“No,” Dean exhales, “It’s cool. I’m just. Trying to pick out the right words.”

Castiel waits him out. 

“You know that feeling,” Dean begins, “When you miss a step on the stairs, and you start to fall. Everything drops but your stomach, and your instincts are kicking in trying to find something to cling onto, and everything else slips out of your head. It was a little like that, the feeling. Free falling and not being able to control it. Except, it — there was the kind of inevitably to it,” Dean says, his voice just above a whisper. He’s in the room he shares with Sam at Bobby’s, but Sam declared that he was going to stay up late studying in a very loud, pointed voice that was apparently permission for Dean to be able to call. There’s no need for him to be speaking quietly, but continues all the same. “When they tried to call Dad and didn’t have his number, I knew what was gonna happen; when dad left, I knew; the first time he took off, I knew, but - it’s not being able to control it. It’s like walking down a flight of stairs in the dark when you know half of the steps are missing: you know you’re gonna fall. So you try every fucking thing you can think of but you know you’re still gonna wind up flat on your face and you can’t stop that, and you don’t really know where you’re gonna end up.”

Castiel has plenty of distinct memories of Dean falling apart at the seams. Dean on his eighteenth birthday, having driven half the night; Dean in his new apartment, sobbing. Dean sat in the classroom as they waited for Bobby Singer to come back with the social worker and tell him what was going to happen to his whole life.

“I used to have all these numbers in my head all the time. The amount of money in my bank account, the amount of shifts I had booked in, the number of nights Sam could sleep at his friends that week, the number of nights till I got too cold to sleep outside. The number of meals Sammy probably hadn’t eaten and how many nights in a motel I could get for us if it all went to hell. How much gas was in the tank, how much laundry there was to do, how much my grades could slip before people start noticing. And, any time it was quiet, I’d start adding them up, working out all the scenarios. What I’d have to get if one of us got sick. What we could do if I had a shift of good tips. Freak weather plans, when to shower plans, at what point I had to try and sell the impala. It’s weighing up risks, and gains and adding it all up all the fucking time to try and make sure you’ve thought of everything, even though you know it’s all slipping through your fingers and the budget don’t balance and you’ve got no strategy or no plan or nothing in your power that you can _do_.” 

Hester’s right. Castiel doesn’t understand this.

“So, there’s that,” Dean says, “And then there’s the shame, cause the world acts like you should have figured it out. That you should have found a way _to pull yourself up by your bootstraps_ and that — not fixing it, not working it out, must mean that you’re lazy or plain dumb. And it’s so basic, Cas, paying your damn rent and — sometimes it’s just not possible, but it still feels like you’ve fucked everything up. I —- when you told me I could go to college, Dean says, never felt like you didn’t understand me like that before. But. I couldn’t _gamble_ on something that would take years to have a payback, Cas, I —- It’s this weight, all the time. This burden and that sensation that you’re free falling and it’s inevitable and you can’t stop it or control it, and you have no power over anything that ever happens to you. You just exist, and stuff happens, and you have to try and figure out how you can make it work when every single odd is against you, and then — you’re exhausted from being tense all the time, from being hungry, from sleep deprivation and nightmares. But —- it’s not just when I was actually homeless, it was the years before when my control was slipping, and the years after when I could never stop thinking about how _vulnerable_ I was.”

“Do you still feel like that?” Castiel asks, although he knows the answer. He saw the second that he saw the slope of Dean Winchester’s shoulder that something fundamental was different about him, he just didn’t know what it was.

Dean has tried to explain since. Dean has tried, but Castiel didn’t _understand_. 

_I’ve been scared every damn moment of my life since the fire that burned our world down, but, I built my own family, I earned every cent of the money in my bank account and I know how to make more —- I have security.. I’ve never had that before, and it’s a fucking luxury that means I can think about this stuff, so this is what I’ve been thinking about. You. Us._

“No,” Dean says, “The thing is, Cas, that was true. I didn’t have any power over my life. I didn’t have a backup or the luxury of risk. I was falling and no one was gonna be there to catch me, but —- I’m not seventeen anymore. It’s not _true_ anymore. When… talked about this a lot in therapy,” Dean says, exhales and shuts his eyes for a moment, “Fuck, I hate talking about this. Okay. I screwed a lot of crap up that year thinking I didn’t have any control over my own life, because, I didn’t. I need you to understand that part, Cas, that for _years_ my choices didn’t make a dent on the bullshit coming my way, college wasn’t an option, us pulling off some long distance relationship _wasn’t an option,_ but then the rules changed. People kept trying to freaking tell me. You and Sam. Bobby. Kept drilling it into my head that I had _options_ and _choices._ That was why I went on the damn road trip. The Dean Winchester self discovery tour, except mostly I just felt fucking lonely. That’s why I stayed with Lisa a couple of days in the first place, because I felt so — meaningless. But it felt like I was still powerless to make any kind of actual change in my life. It still _felt_ like shit was happening to me, rather than something that I could steer."

That was incredibly frustrating. It was only a year ago, and it was absolutely _infuriating_ , but… Castiel didn’t understand. He didn’t know where it came from. 

_The fact that I love you doesn't make a damn fucking difference to our situation. This isn't hallmark, Castiel. Love doesn't erase our shitty history and this shitty distance._

“With Lisa — I never wanted to be in a relationship with her, but it didn’t cross my head that I had the power to say _that._ I hurt Sam a lot by cutting him out, but… I thought I had one choice. Drop everything and be a dad, or not. And… talking it out, after, it helped me work out all the things I could have done instead: tell Lise from the off that I wasn’t over you, actually fly out to see you and explain what the hell happened, talk to Sam about everything, ask for help. Figuring out that I had power over my own life was kind of… kind of amazing, but you _get that_ , Cas. You had your moment too, when you took control. Meeting your Dad. Moving here.”

Dean’s opinion of Castiel is much too high, sometimes.

“Sometimes there’s a very fine line between moving forward and running away,” Castiel says, blinking back thoughts of taking a flight to england instead of telling Dean that he didn’t have the capacity to be his friend, or determinedly telling Dean that he didn’t want them to discuss their breakup before it happened.

“Sometimes getting away _is_ moving forward,” Dean says, “Cas. What’s going on in your head?”

“I…. I’m sorry,” Castiel says, “That you had to deal with all that. That I didn’t understand.”

“I didn’t _want_ you to understand,” 

Dean says, “And, fuck Cas, you understood a lot more than most. I --- man. Why does it always get so freaking intense, with us?”

“Probably because of the very intense feelings we have for each other,” Castiel says, phone pressed tightly against his ear. It’s only after the words have left his mouth that he realises it’s the first time he has acknowledged that he _has_ feelings for Dean in approximately a year. The last thing he said about the matter was to say that Castiel had gotten over Dean Winchester, which presumably Dean considered to be bullshit given Castiel kissed him several hours later. 

Dean is quiet for a few long moments. 

“Dean,”

“There’s no time limit on you working this stuff out, Cas,” Dean says, dropping his voice to that intimate tone that means he’s abandoned his bravado and his front, leaving sheer, undiluted _Dean_. “I don’t care how much you need to know about my goddamn childhood, or my favourite foods, or my freaking sexual history. Whatever you need to know.”

“I know your favourite foods, Dean.”

“Guess you do,” Dean says, and Castiel can hear the smile in his voice.

“I’ll save quizzing you about your sexual history until Friday evening,”

“Sure thing, Cas,” Dean throws back, “Right after you tell me about your thesis.”

“Your obsession with my thesis needs to end, Dean,” Castiel says, relaxing a little into the conversation as it moves away from how Dean must have felt for all those years. “Clearly, you have spent more time thinking about it than I have.” 

He thinks about it more, later, about the number of times that Dean has tried to make him understand. 

_You were so -- you got so mad at me about college, Cas, like I had a choice. About me trying to keep my emotional distance sometimes. Like you ever had a fucking clue and you… you put this on me, like it’s my fault we broke up, like I ruined your goddamn life. You thought I made up some bullshit phobia of flying to have a convenient way to dump you and you always have an excuse. Every single time you mess up. I have not been doing very well. That’s what you told me. That was your excuse for smashing up my goddamn heart, right before I spent Thanksgiving freezing my ass off in my shitty apartment, alone, while you felt your goddamn feelings surrounded by your family who love you. You sat there after everything and told me you were upset like you hadn’t already broken me. Like you had any goddamn idea what I was going through._

And ---- Castiel is confused and upset and frustrated, and the anecdote to all of that would be Dean Winchester. He wishes they _had_ had this conversation in person, because then he could curl against Dean’s side, run a hand over his shoulders, tuck himself under Dean’s arms and bury his face into Dean’s chest. It is as annoying as it was the evening he had found out that Dean had spent month dating Lisa, when he was so _angry_ , and yet the strong, solid warmth of Dean's arms wrapped around him felt like the only thing holding him together. Only this time, Dean is further away. 

He’s in love with Dean, and there is so, so much more that he wants to understand about him. He wants to learn everything. He wants to dig further into understanding _this_ ; the point at which Dean began to believe in freewill; how it felt to shed the layers of burden and breath again. He wants to know if Dean really means it. He wants to know if Dean's words can be backed up with action. He _does_ want a commitment. 

_He wants a commitment from Dean_.

Seeing each other was a good idea, in the beginning. 

He’s done with this charade, now. He’s done with pretending that their timelines aren’t meticulously entwined. He doesn’t want soft, unsure pecks on the lips from Dean; he wants him to drag him in, tease him, text him without restraint. He doesn’t want Friday and Saturday dinner dates; he wants all-day-Sundays, lunch on Tuesdays, breakfasts, trips to the launderette. He wants exactly as he’s always wanted: Dean. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heh. This chapter got split in two and was still 6.5k words
> 
> Next one should be really soon!
> 
> PS. Sorry for all the recap. Usually hate doing that, but it was kind of necessary to get Cas thinking about everything, and also I figured this thing has now dragged on so bloody long it wouldn’t be too dull :’)


	9. Chapter 9

“Lasagna,” Castiel says, leaning on Dean’s kitchen island as he watches Dean move about the kitchen. He’s always been much better at cooking than Castiel in virtue of actually having done it for most of his teenage life, but… he carries himself differently than any of the other times that Castiel has watched him cook. He has this self-assurance that spills out, as he is clearly so _comfortable_ in this apartment, and he is enjoying himself. He’s smiling and making bad jokes as he tastes his sauce and nudges the oven door shut with his knee, a beer open on the side. “I made you a lasagna once.”

The weekend that they had the Miltons family home to themselves. They were still collecting firsts then, and that weekend was the first time that Dean bottomed. It was the weekend that Castiel told him that he wanted a wordless break up, if the breakup had to happen, and he learnt later that it was the weekend Dean nearly said he loved him. 

“Yeah, you inspired me,” Dean says, turning down the white sauce and turning to face him. He handed Castiel a glass of wine on arrival and he looks exceptional. There’s no real reason why his grey t-shirt should look so unspeakably hot, but it somehow accentuates the broad line of his shoulders and his biceps. If this evening goes well, Castiel might get to pull the shirt over Dean’s head and trace his collarbone with his lips. If it doesn’t, he won’t ever get to _be with_ Dean again and that thought is jarring, but manageable. “Spent less time trawling through freaking youtube than you.” 

He is in love with Dean, but he’s not so far into this thing that it will shatter him if he has to walk away. He hasn’t really allowed himself to believe it could work, not really, and he did the groundwork of this thinking last year. If Dean can’t make a commitment, then for all the incredible shifts and changes in his life that have turned him into this confident, happy adult, then he still cannot be what Castiel needs and Castiel needs to walk away. 

It will hurt and it will suck, but he can do it this time. He’s sure of it. 

“I’m sure yours will be better.”

“No way, Cas,” Dean says, “That’s one of the best damn dates of my life.”

“That was a good day,” Castiel smiles, “It —- it would have been a very bad weekend if you hadn’t been there.” 

“Yeah?” 

“Back then, the existence of Anna made me feel like an intruder to their family,” Castiel says, “In retrospect, isolating myself from the visit wasn’t going to help that.”

“I figured that it was getting to you,” Dean says. “All of them visiting Anna. You having her room.”

“If I hadn’t have needed to stay, they probably would have left her room as it was until they moved,” Castiel says, “It was very strange, Dean. I hadn’t seen any of them for years when it happened, and even then Anna was in the group of older cousins and had barely spoken to me, and then I was living in her bedroom. I assumed she must resent me for taking her space, which she didn’t.”

“You sound like you’re close, now.”

“We are,” Castiel says, “Did you meet Anna? She’s exceptionally perceptive.”

“Uh yeah,” Dean says, “Used to have a crush on her, actually.” Castiel raises an eyebrow at him. “And, uh, we kissed in a game of spin the bottle at one of Balthazar’s parties, once.”

“You kissed Anna?” Castiel repeats, “How has this not come up in conversation before?”

“Dunno if we’ve ever talked about Anna.”

“She never mentioned it.”

“Cas, it was a game of spin the bottle. Pretty sure I kissed Gabriel too. She probably doesn’t remember it.”

“That image is incredibly scarring,” 

Dean laughs and flicks tomato sauce onto the counter in the process. Castiel’s not really sure why that churns up another wave of affection.

“I like your new apartment.” 

“I’ll give you a tour of the place when I’ve layered this up,” Dean says, taking another swig of his beer. There’s some familiar classic rock on in the background that Castiel knows he’s heard before, and it all feels very Dean. He has a kitchen island that separates the kitchen and the rest of the living space that’s smooth and clean, paired with a couple of barstools that look like they started life in a roadhouse. Dean has a _very Dean_ sofa; brown leather that looks indulgently soft, and there are indeed photos on his refrigerator. Dean owns garlic infused olive oil and a spice rack. He owns pans that look like they didn’t come from the student range and there’s a framed photo of Dean’s mother hung up between the doors to the rest of the apartment. This is an _adult’s_ apartment, and it smacks more of being Dean’s home than anywhere else he’s lived. 

“So,” Dean says, gesturing with hands after he’s put the lasagna in the oven and washed his hands, “This is my place. Sam was gonna pick me out an apartment and get it set up, but I figured I’d just stay in a motel for a week or so while I got it sorted.”

The throw that Sam made him buy is thrown over the sofa, but doesn’t look like it spends much time there. The coffee table looks overly sparse and the TV remote has been left in a far too sensible place for it to be natural, which means Dean’s spent a great deal of time cleaning.

It’s nice. Flattering. It makes his chest warm.

He can walk away from this, he just does not want to. 

“You bought the furniture?” Castiel prompts.

“Yeah,” Dean says, “Was pretty fun actually.”

“It’s all very you,” Castiel says, wandering into his living space to take in the space from this angle. There are a couple more photos next to TV of Sam graduating high school and what looks like last year’s Christmas at Bobby’s. 

“This is Sammy’s room, AKA the place he puts all the books he can’t fit in his student digs,” Dean says, opening one of the doors. Castiel comes to join him in the entrance to Sam's room and smiles, because it looks a great deal like the over spill of a library. He has a desk that’s laden with course textbooks and wider reading, and almost nothing else in the room except a photo of Sam and his high school friends tacked above the desk, and one of Dean’s high school graduation. 

“Bathroom,” Dean continues, opening the next door. It’s worth noting that Dean has a bath, which is significantly more than the shared bathroom at Castiel’s apartment has. If it does work out tonight, he is definitely going to use that bath. 

“So this is your bedroom,” Castiel says, reaching for the handle of the final door in his apartment. Dean’s hand lands on his to still it before he can push it open. 

“Nu uh, Cas, Dean says, and they’ve ended up very close. They do that, sometimes. “Remember what happened last time I gave you a tour and showed you my room, and I’ve got lasagna cooking.” 

Yes, that was definitely one of those incidents where sex complicated things. Perhaps, if either of them had a little more self control, they might have had a chance of being friends that summer.

It feels unlikely. 

_Dean has always had oversensitive strategies in place to protect himself emotionally, whilst you have generally had no survival instincts when it comes to your emotional wellbeing at all._

Not this time. 

This time, he is prepared to walk away. He has prepared his family that tomorrow he will he either very happy or somewhat gutted by the revelation that it is not going to work, but he’s not in as deep this time. He’s been sensible protecting his heart, which means that the disappointment won’t be matched with doubt and regret and frustration with himself.

It will hurt, but he won’t regret it. He especially will not regret that Dean had the forethought and the self control to protect both of them by keeping sex off the table.

“So I don’t get to see the great Dean Winchester’s bedroom?” Castiel asks, looking up at Dean through his eyelashes. Dean’s still more or less holding his hand over his grip of the door handle. 

“Oh you will,” Dean returns with a dangerous smirk, “Just not tonight.”

And that means Dean believes it’s all going to work. He thinks they just need more time for all the pieces to fit together.

“In which case, I would like to try out your sofa,” Castiel says, stepping away from the warmth radiating from Dean’s chest, but keeping hold of his hand. Dean allows him to pull Castiel towards the sofa and smiles a dazzling, free, kind of smile when Castiel collapses into it and pulls Dean with him.

It’s very comfortable, particularly when Dean throws an arm over his shoulders.

Castiel can give this up, he just doesn’t want to. 

Dean’s coffee table is also a DVD stand, which Castiel can actually see at this angle. It’s almost completely full of old CDs and movies, which is one of the few things that Castiel recognises from Dean’s old apartments. It’s not surprising that he decided not to bother transporting most of his clubbed together things from Lawrence to California, but the things that he decided to take with him is interesting. The throw he always proclaimed to hate when they had to use it as a blanket when his heating was broken, his DVDs, Sam’s books.

“I bought you these,” Castiel says, nodding to a number of disks on the right hand side. They clubbed together for them to replace those Dean had lost when he was evicted from his home, and now they have traveled to California. 

“You know me, Cas,” Dean says, “Sentimental.”

This is very true, even though Dean says it with a tone of amusement. 

“Where are the photos of your college graduation?” 

“Uh, about here,” Dean says, shifting to dig his phone out of his pocket and run back through his photos. Most of his last pictures are all things that Castiel sent to him over Christmas, interspersed with a few family pictures and photos of car parts that must be for his attempts to get his garage into the restoration business. He gets there eventually, and tilts the screen at him.

“Sam wasn’t there,” Castiel says, frowning slightly at the photo of Dean, Bobby and Sonny.

“If I’d graduated in the summer like I originally planned, he would’ve been,” Dean says, “but with everything I didn’t finish up till like, end of September, and it was a week day and he had class. I wasn’t gonna go, period, so he tried to skip it to fly out here, so we compromised. By which I mean, we had a massive fight. But if he’d come back for that, we couldn’t have gone back for Christmas and —- he agreed in the end.”

It is so acutely unfair that Dean doesn’t get all of the good things he deserved. 

“Don’t matter, Cas. Sam worked way too damn hard to get into Stanford to skip classes for something like that.” 

Castiel kisses him for something to do with how _angry_ he is that Dean’s life still had to require so much sacrifice, and Dean drops his phone somewhere on the sofa to draw him closer, and they make out on Dean’s very comfortable sofa until the timer for the lasagna goes off. 

*

Castiel takes the plates over to the sink after they’ve finished eating, before heading back to Dean. He’s still sat on the bar stool near the island, stool tilted outwards from the table, meaning that Castiel can step into the space in front of him; prompt him to shift his legs with a touch to the knee, settle into the space between his legs so that they’re almost chest to chest, with Dean looking up at him.

They have had a very good date.

The food was excellent and they have fallen back into a comfortable rhythm of back and forths, flirting, and nostalgia. He likes it best when they acknowledge that they have a great deal of history under their belts, and Dean seems less afraid of referencing that now. Dean asked about his thesis again, and laughed gratifyingly enthusiastically at Castiel’s retelling of Gabriel flipping over the monopoly board during their Christmas Eve game, and the miniature top hat somehow ending up in Inais’ trifle.

It’s time to present his ultimatum, but he needs courage first. 

He needs to remind himself of how much he actually wants this, and of how much it will hurt in the long run if Dean can’t commit and Castiel can’t walk away. 

He leans down to kiss him. Savouring Dean’s bottom lip. The way Dean’s hands find their way to the plains of his hips. The way his thumbs run over the material of his shirt like he’s some precious article. 

They kissed when he arrived and again on the sofa, but it wasn’t enough. He struggles to have _sufficient_ Dean and it’s not enough now, either, with Dean drawing out each touch until it’s slow and steady and restrained. He doesn’t _want_ that, so he tangles his hands in his hair, changes the angle, kisses him deeper.

He doesn’t get away with it for very long.

“Cas,” Dean says, pulling away, drinking him in. The ‘slow down their buddy’ is implicit and irritating. This beginning again business was Dean's idea, and it was good, but now it is beginning to be frustrating. 

“I know how third dates work, Dean,” Cas says, expression purposefully hard. It wasn’t the route of attack he was intending on going down, but it’s out now. 

Dean swallows, eyes flicking to his lips, then back to his eyes. He rolls back his shoulders so minutely it might have been unconscious. 

“You know that, that’s not why I,” Dean gestures lamely at the empty dishes, “That wasn’t my intention for tonight.”

Castiel puts a finger to his lips.

“I understand your concerns; you think sex complicates things.” 

“I know it complicates things,”

“You’re right,” Castiel says, “But, I want to uncomplicated things,” Castiel says, “I don’t want to go on dates with you, I want to _date you.”_

“Cas,” Dean says, and he sounds pained.

Castiel forces himself not to step away and fall back on old hurts. He knew there was a relatively high chance that Dean wouldn’t go for it. He prepared himself for this. 

“No,” Castiel interrupts before Dean can really say anything in protest. “Dean, you always define what this is; you decide what’s a date, and what is and isn’t a relationship, and when we break up, and I don’t want that anymore. I don’t want to _wait_ for you to decide we’ve passed some infernal test that only you understand. I don’t want to pretend that we don’t have a history. I don’t want to second guess whether it’s too soon to text you, or invite myself over when I have had a bad day when I have known you, intimately, since I was seventeen. I want _a relationship with you.”_

Dean kisses him, fierce enough that he loses his train of thought, but still reverent and exquisite. Dean has touched him a lot over their last few dates, like he's been starved for it, but all of it had an edge of insecurity; of testing out the waters.

Now Dean’s thumbs are bawled up in the bottom of Cas shirt as he pulls him closer.

And — what if Dean is just trying to distract him? 

“That’s not an answer,” Castiel says, “Dean.”

“Yes,” Dean says, pressing their foreheads together, “Yeah. I’m in.”

_Dean is in._

“You want,” Castiel falters, pulling back, “You want to be in a relationship with me?”

“Hell fucking yeah,” Dean says, and he kisses him again, and — Dean has been holding back on him. Castiel knew that, but it’s still jarring to be kissed like that; with heat and frustration. “Cas — I thought I _told you_ that.”

Did he? Dean said a lot of things, but… if he was anyone else, Castiel would have assumed that’s what they meant, but Dean is Dean. 

“You say a lot of words, Dean,” Cas says, and Dean is _so close,_ warm and pulling him closer, and it is hard to think when he’s looking at him like that. “Many of them don’t make any sense to me.”

“Okay,” Dean says, swallowing a breath of air and forcing distance between them, looking at him as intently as he ever has. “Castiel. Being your boyfriend would make me happier than I’ve ever been in my whole fucking life.”

“Oh,” Castiel says, the world falling out of his mouth as he _looks at him._ Dean wants to date him. _Dean Winchester._ He’s not too scared of commitment to be what Castiel needs. He’s not reluctant. He’s not giving in to the label because he thinks Castiel will leave it he didn’t concede to it; he wants it. He wants _a future._

Dean loves him and Dean is finally, finally ready. 

“Cas. Say something.”

“I was going to leave,” Castiel says, and he feels dazed. Dean is reaching for him again, and Castiel is freefalling in the best way. “This —- this is going to work.”

“You’re the love of my fucking life, Cas, and that — and that matters. Was stupid to ever say it didn’t.”

“You _want._...Dean.?" 

“Cas. I _want_ a white picket fence and a goddamn kid, but I want that crap with you, and I can’t picture wanting it any other fucking way. Yeah, I wanna goddamn date you.”

“I’m in love with you,” Castiel says, even though he didn’t really intend to because it’s _too soon_ and too much, except Dean is serious — completely, utterly serious — and he wants him. Still, it’s embedded in his bone marrow; he loves Dean Winchester. He loves him when he is making terrible jokes and refuses to talk about his feelings, and he loves him when he looks him in the eye with that green gaze and tells him he wants them to have a future together. 

“Thank _fuck._ You. Are you sure? I really need you to be sure about this.”

“I forgive you.” 

Castiel didn’t realise there was any tension left in Dean’s shoulders, but something tight and painful deflates at his words. Dean smiles wider and freer than Castiel has ever seen him. He looks starkly different, like he hasn’t lost his parents and been forced into independence and devaluing his own worth. He looks so _happy,_ and young, and unburdened.

That expression makes every fucking moment of this worth it.

He has never seen Dean _smile like that_.

“Cas,” Dean breathes, blinking, “I’m —- I’m _sorry.”_

“I’m sorry.”

“We’ll do better,”Dean says, pulling him into a hug that’s much more like an embrace. Dean is clutching hold of him, and it’s perfect. Their relationship has been broken and mixed up and bitter for so long, but now it’s perfect, and—- And he could hug Dean forever, because it’s warm and comfortable and they fit. 

_Dean Winchester is his boyfriend again._

“This feels right.”

“You and Sam are the only fucking things that have felt like home since my world burnt down,” Dean says, so quiet that it sounds much more like a prayer than something Castiel was actually supposed to hear, but he _understands that._ Dean was the first thing that felt like home after his father left. The first thing that felt like security and being needed and warmth; like a place _for him._ He tangled that up with needing to be needed and pressing down his emotions and feeling so wrong and broken that he couldn’t trust, but he felt it.

“Dean,” Cas says, muttering the word into his neck, “I think this is going to go very well.”

“Yeah,” Dean says, taking a step backwards to smile at him. “This … this is good. This is awesome. This is —-”

“Unexpected,” Castiel says, “You didn’t think this is what I wanted.”

“I,” Dean begins, then swallows, “Cas, of everything I’ve ever doubted, you wanting me isn’t the top of the list. It’s —- I figured when you kissed me that you still _wanted_.”

“What gave it away?” Castiel asks dryly, idly running his index finger over Dean’s belt hooks.

“I didn’t think you wanting _this_ was gonna win out over everything else yet.”

“But you thought it would win eventually?”

“Hoped,” Dean says, “Prayed. Longed.” 

“I love you.” 

“Love you too, Cas,” Dean says, almost like it’s easy. He’s still very Dean about it; his voice is slightly too light, as if he hadn’t just declared achingly sentimental things (including that Castiel is the love of his life) and is treating it as something almost humorous, but his green gaze is piercing and _full of intent_ as he pulls Castiel closer to him again. 

“I don’t mean to lower the tone,” Castiel says, voice low as he hooks his index finger around Dean’s belt hooks to pull himself closer again. Dean is still sat on his bar stool with Castiel mostly stood between his knees, which means they had this entire conversation inches apart. “But does this mean sex is back on the table?”

Dean stretches forward to kiss him in response: a serious, heat-filled kiss with intent and direction, that happens to cause Dean to half slip off the bar stool mid-kiss. Their noses knock together as Dean steadies himself and smiles broad and lovely and —- 

Castiel wants to establish the exact cause of that kind of smile and spend as much time as possible trying to inspire them, because they make his toe’s curl with something a lot like contentment. He wants to make Dean this happy all the time. He wants Dean — _his boyfriend_ — to smile like his life has been easy, all the time.

And he wants to rip his clothes off. 

“Sofa,” Dean mutters into the soft flesh below his earlobe, which is a better idea than this bar stool, even though that means precious seconds wasted without Dean's hands on him.

Dean pins him to the sofa with his thighs and Castiel trails a hand up dean's spine under his shirt. He'd forgotten about the built in frustration of wanting _this_ but being too far away to have it; of Dean's words, solid and hot in his ear from a thousand miles away as Cas closed his eyes and tried to envision him close. And now. Now, Dean pulls Castiel's shirt over his head and buries his face into the expanse of new skin; nosing along his collarbone, rib cage, stomach. He presses a biting kiss into Castiel's hipbone and - and Dean is hotter than he ever was. Better at this than he ever was.

“Anything new I should know?” Dean says, moving back up to kiss his mouth, sharp and so very promising. “New… Discoveries. New preferences.”

“Dean,” Cas says.

“I can do that,” Dean says, confident and cocky and —

Castiel flips them over (and nearly dislodges them both of them from the sofa in the process ) and raises an eyebrow at him.

“I forgot the scheduled quiz on your sexual history,” Castiel says, kissing him slowly.

“Pretty fucking sure it can wait.”

“Patience is a virtue, Dean.”

“ _Fuck_ that,” Dean breathes, shifting to allow Castiel to pull Dean’s shirt over his head.

“Is that any way to speak to your boyfriend?” Castiel asks, faux seriously, as Dean’s smile broadens. It’s delicious, inhibited smile that makes Castiel’s toes curl with sheer _joy_. This is exactly what he always wanted. 

_This_. 

Dean catches his hand when Castiel’s skim down his abdomen. 

“I, uh,” Dean says, “I’m gonna need a sec.” 

“You really weren’t expecting this.” 

“Nope,” Dean says, kissing Castiel hard, briefly as he detangles himself, “Two minutes.” 

Castiel uses the opportunity to peer through the door of Dean’s bedroom. 

As it turns out, Dean has made the bed, which means that he has at least considered this possibility of this happening, or has turned into the kind of person who makes their bed every day (doubtful). Or, he had intended for his room to be part of the tour before he changed his mind. Either is plausible, and ---

Dean has both the leather jacket that Sonny bought him when he was a teenager and the leather jacket he owns that actually fits hung on the back of a chair, and it is so unreasonably endearing that Castiel is hit with a sudden smack of releasing _just how_ deep his feelings run for Dean Winchester. 

He’s not ignorant to that. It has been very clear for a long time that Dean has the capacity to make him _lose his mind_ , but --- it’s a very acute, real awareness and Castiel can find almost anything Dean does a reason for him to find him _more_ attractive and charming, and suddenly Castiel is _nervous_. 

Any moment now, Dean is going to come back and kiss him again, and the expectation has been set that they are going to _finally_ sleep together, and Castiel is nervous. 

_Nervous_. 

It’s illogical, and bizarre, because sex is not new ground.

Even when it _was_ new territory, the very presence of Dean was so reassuring, and the prospect so appealing, that he hardly had any room left for nerves. He had no idea what he was doing back then, but he’d known that Dean knew that and didn’t care whatsoever. _That_ was before their relationship got complicated and mixed up and confusing (or at least, before it got so convoluted and painful that he didn’t know where they stood any more; even at seventeen Dean was homeless and lying to him about it, and Castiel was denying he had any feelings about his father leaving at all. It was never _simple_ , but it had felt it at the time).

He has slept with Dean in three different states, in three separate addresses than Dean has called home and in the back of Dean’s car. They have had phone sex, and they have disucssed sex, and they have slept together enough for Castiel to be entirely confident that he knows just what makes Dean tick, and exaclty how they _fit_.

Why is he nervous? 

Castiel shuts the door with a decisive click and crosses Dean’s apartment to the dishes they left by the sink for something to occupy himself with.

By the time Dean has emerges from the bathroom, he is elbow deep in soap suds and halfway through scrubbing the dish that Dean cooked their lasagna in. 

“Washing up, huh?” Dean asks, settling very close behind him as Castiel pretends to be unaffected. “You know, Cas, even when I _don’t_ have company I tend to leave the dishes for the next day.”

“That’s a terrible habit. They’re much easier to clean immediately.”

“Dude, you’re forgetting I’ve _been_ to your student digs, right?”

“Well,” Castiel says, “I have a dishwasher now.” 

“What’s going on, Cas?” Dean asks. Castiel pauses halfway through scrubbing. “Look, Cas, if…. If you’ve changed your mind, then --”

“- I haven’t changed my mind in five years, Dean, I don’t know why you think I would now.” 

It has more gravitas this time. They’re not falling into bed because they’re hopeless and unable to keep their distance. They’ve _actively chosen this_. This time, their relationship is going to mean something. It is going to work, and it’s going to be incredible, and he is going to make Dean very happy, it’s just ---

“Cas,” Dean says, now right behind him. Castiel had forgotten that they were both topless, now, but that is Dean’s skin. “What’s going on?”

“Emotions are _highly frustrating_.”

“Yeah,” Dean exhales in agreement, and he’s stood so close behind him that Castiel can feel his chest rise and fall with the words.

Castiel turns round to face him. Dean is stood very, very close, and he is gorgeous. Again, not new information, but it’s still worth dwelling on. He is _beautiful_ with the solid curves of his shoulder and the green gaze.

“And idiotic.”

“Damn right,” Dean throws back, “Any in particular?”

“Nerves.” 

Dean looks at him for a few moments. His eyes crease into a smile and his lips quick upwards before he speaks again. 

“You trust me?” Dean asks, which are the exact words he poisted when they first did this, years ago. The question was much, much less complicated back then, and the answer had been obvious. At the time, Dean was his entire experience of attraction. His first kiss and his first _everything_ , and now ---

“Of course, Dean,” Castiel says, and Dean kisses him against the sink until nerves have slipped so far down his list of _feelings_ that he forgets the exist. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TADAAAAAAAAA


	10. Chapter 10

Castiel first wakes up with one of Dean’s hands thrown over his waist and his forehead pressed into Castiel’s back. He’s too warm, but unfathomably comfortable. Content. He is very, very happy right now, and he closes his eyes again and basks in how much simpler everything is this side of last night.

_Dean wants to date him._

And, he dozes back off thinking about a half asleep Dean muttering _‘best date ever’_ into his hair last night, and how sated and safe he felt watching Dean drift off to sleep, listening to the deep, steady rhythm of his breathing.

Castiel’s alarm wakes him the second time.

“Cas,” Dean complains, rolling over to bury his face in his pillow. Castiel’s phone turns out to be in his jean’s pockets, which turn out to be somewhere near the door, and by the time Castiel has fumbled to stop it Dean has stolen his pillow too. He gets an excellent view of the arch of Dean’s back from this angle, but he’s slightly too drowsy to appreciate it. Dean mutters something intelligible into his pillow that manages to be downright _adorable_ and affection-inducing. 

“Dean.”

Dean turns his head to look at him and tries again. 

“It’s Saturday, man, why do you have an alarm?” Dean asks, his voice rough with sleep in the very best way. Castiel’s always liked Dean just after he’s woken up: bleary, a little slow, and blissfully uncomplicated. After he fully wakes up, he becomes much more able to mask his emotions, or even just _feel_ more than sleepy contentment. 

“I have to go try on a tux for Anna’s wedding.”

“Oh,” Dean says. His forehead creases in displeasure. “Fuck that, come back to bed.”

And…. yes, that’s very tempting. Crawling back under the covers, under Dean’s arms, and indulging in a slow, languid morning of closeness sounds much, much better than getting in his car and driving for three hours to try on a tux, be interrogated over lunch by his over invested family. Spending the morning with his _boyfriend_ sounds --- 

Perfect.

“Cas,” Dean says. It’s half a command, half an invitation and completely compelling. 

The bed dips when Castiel sits back on the edge of the bed, and Dean throws the covers over his legs and pulls Castiel closer until he’s comfortable. Castiel concedes and allows Dean to wrap his arms around him because he has wanted this for a very, very long time, and now it’s uncomplicated and easy (theoretically, at least), and because _they get to have this_. Dean has lost both his parents and his home and he has battled through life, and he has hurt Castiel a number of times in a number of ways as a byproduct of every other hand Dean has been dealt. Castiel has abandonment issues, too much heart and makes terrible decisions when it comes to establishing how he feels, and he has hurt Dean too, but… things are different now. They aren’t teenagers. This _can work_ , and will work, and that means there will be lots of lazy Saturday mornings; lots of half-asleep Dean tangling their legs together; lots of lasagnas and frustrating fights about nothing. There will be evenings of Dean distracting him from his thesis with his endearing Doctor Sexy obsession, and maybe there will be flights back to Lawrence where Dean will crush Castiel’s hand during take off, and next year New Year he will kiss Dean Winchester at midnight. 

He can feel Dean’s eyelashes flutter against his shoulder as Dean shuts his eyes again. And, yes, this is fine. _Absolutely fine._

“I do need to go,” Castiel says, after a few moments of just listening to Dean breathe. If he doesn’t voice his concern, he will fall asleep again, which should be more of a problem than it feels like. Trying on a tux does not feel like a very pressing matter compared to getting his fill of the solid weight of Dean’s arms around him, confusion free. 

“Nope,” Dean mutters.

He hadn’t properly been able to appreciate how secure and plain _good_ it feels to have Dean hold him like this the night that he had stayed at Castiel’s apartment, because he had been upset and frustrated and confused. Now, he can just _be_ and relish in the impeccable way that working on cars has sculpted Dean’s arms. Dean has always been deeply attractive, but now he is _exquisite_ and _hot_. He has that tattoo that does things to Castiel, despite never being particularly into them on anyone else, and he has some new scars that Castiel needs to learn about. New muscles he needs to acquaint himself with. Skin he needs to reintroduce himself too.

Later, after they have slept more. 

He’s entirely sure that Anna would forgive him for not attending the appointment. He can send her measurements if it’s necessary. Dean could help.

“Alright,” Castiel says, letting his eyes shut again.

He could very much get used to this, and he is fully intending to. Dean is not just willing to date him, he actively wants to. He has thought about parts of the future that it hadn’t even occurred to Castiel to consider. Dean is in love with him and he, finally, _finally_ , thinks that means something.

Castiel’s alarm goes off again. 

_Damnit_. 

“Cas,” Dean complains, shifting to allow Castiel enough space to reach for the bedside table to turn his phone alarm off again. Castiel jabs at his phone to silence the interruption and to check whether he had set any _further_ alarms that could disrupt their pieces. 

There are another two. Apparently, his past self assumed that getting out of bed would prove challenging this morning. He hadn’t really envisioned that the difficult would be a sleepy, affectionate Dean Winchester trying to coax him back to their lie in, but because he’d assumed that Dean didn’t _want_ to date him.

And… obviously he _does_ need to attend this damnable appointment. The ultimatum was Anna’s idea. He pressed ahead with mentioning it yesterday evening because he knew that he would have today for his family to piece him back together if it all fell apart. 

“I need to get up.”

“Fine,” Dean says, releasing him with obvious reluctance, “But I ain’t happy about it.”

Castiel can sympathise. He doesn’t _want_ to leave the safe cocoon of Dean’s bed just in case any of the worries, or any of their baggage hits him smack in the face the second he’s out of range of Dean’s reassuring, steady presence, because now he’s been reminded of just how much he wants this. He hadn’t _really_ let himself hope, just in case, but now ---

\--- now the depths and force of how much he _wants to date Dean Winchester_ has the power to sweep him into a whirlwind of bad decisions and _feelings_. 

Dean knows that Castiel is still in love with him now, if there had ever been any doubt in his mind. It seemed like there had been, given the relief written all over his face when Castiel said it, but --- 

No. He doesn’t want to complicate this. 

He has _some_ time before he has to leave.

“Do you want coffee?”

He’s not expecting this question to have Dean half sitting up staring at him, slack jawed, for a long few seconds, even if the question comes out much softer and intimate than he really intended to. How much he is relishing the morning somehow spilled out into the words until they _sound_ like a declaration of love, but he has already offered those up. Dean looking so drowsily taken aback is…

Well. _Nice_. 

“Hot damn,” Dean mutters, running a hand over his face, “Yeah, I want coffee. Yeah, I want _you_ bringing me coffee in bed… shit, you’re naked. _Yeah_ I wanna naked coffee delivery, Cas.”

Cas’ face stretches into a smile, because Dean is truly wonderful and very cute when he’s this happy. He would like to make Dean this happy repeatedly, often, all the time. He pauses to kiss him before he heads to Dean’s bedroom door, a closed mouth, brief thing that makes Castiel’s chest tight with affection, and that has Dean sitting up a little more to offer a dopey smile back. 

_This is a very good morning_.

Even if he does have to leave in the not too distant future, Castiel can fumble around Dean’s kitchen until he’s found coffee and they can drink it propped up in bed and discuss what _being in a relationship_ will actually look like. Or, Castiel will bring back the cups of coffee and they will drink half of it before they get so distracted staring at each other that Dean will kiss him, and then they consummate their relationship a few more times for good measure, coffee forgotten. 

Castiel gets as far as opening Dean’s bedroom door before he shuts it again immediately. 

“Your brother is on your couch.”

Dean stares at him for a few seconds.

“Sonuva… okay,”

“I’m going to put clothes on,”

“Any chance at all,” Dean says, swallowing, “You didn’t just flash my brother.”

“Has he developed unexpected blindness since I last saw him?”

“No,” Dean deadpans, grabbing himself a t-shirt and some boxers, “Okay, I will do some damage control, you just… yeah, clothes. That.”

He’s unsure of where his own clothes - bar his jeans - actually are, so he settles on taking underwear and a t-shirt from Dean’s drawer, instead. He’s not entirely sure if they’re strictly ‘there yet’, but he does not want to abide by illogical rules that don’t feel like they should apply anymore. They have a history, and Castiel is done with compartmentalising their relationship now and their relationship back then as separate entities. Spending one evening on a date and the next arguing about events that happened a year ago is jarring and it’s giving him whiplash. He wants to talk about their history on dates and kiss at the end of their arguments, and learn from all of it. 

Dean left the door open slightly. 

“What the hell, Sam?”

“Hey, I didn’t know you had your boyfriend over -” 

“ - I’m revoking your key privileges,” Dean says, and Castiel can just imagine him waving a finger in Sam’s direction in a way that makes Castiel’s smile broaden (apparently he woke up smiling; he hadn’t actually realised until that exact moment). “You can ring the doorbell like a normal person. It’s _Saturday morning_ , Dude, why are you even here?”

“I can’t study at the dorm,”

“Pretty sure Stanford has a damn library,”

“I thought you were taking it slow with Cas, anyway.”

“That would be, I believe the term is, ‘my bad’,” Cas says, stepping out of Dean’s bedroom and heading towards his kitchen. He needs coffee and that desire eclipses any desire he has to let this pan out and listen and… he _does_ have limited amount of time before he has to leave. He doesn’t want to waste those without Dean. “Hello, Sam.”

He's been in enough of Dean’s kitchens to locate mugs in the second cupboard he tries. Sam has already put a pot on, which saves effort, even if the safe bubble of their newly reinstated relationship has been burst by his presence. 

“Hey, Cas,” Sam says, watching as Castiel begins to pour two coffees. 

“Told you Cas was coming over, Sammy,” Dean hisses, nudging him with his knee. He’s dropped the volume of his voice to continue the conversation as though Castiel isn’t supposed to listen, or at least is supposed to pretend that he can’t hear.

“Uh, you also said you _definitely_ weren’t sleeping with him.”

“And this just happens to be the first time in my goddamn life you listen to the shit I say?” 

“You said, categorically, that it wasn’t on the cards yet.”

“Would you like a coffee top up?” Castiel asks, only a little pointed. Dean flushes and looks back at him.

“No, thanks Cas,” Sam says, “And — sorry. I’ll just… library.” Sam finishes lamely, exchanging a few long pointed looks with Dean that no doubt mean something. 

“No need,” Castiel says, “I have to leave soon.” 

“Right,” Dean says, abandoning his silent conversation with Sam to claim his coffee and settle close to Castiel in the kitchen. “The weddings in June, right? What’s the point of fitting it six freaking months early? You can change a helluva lot in six months.”

“You mean if you keep cooking for me.”

“Well, maybe,” Dean says, smile tugging at the corners of his lips. He takes a sip of his coffee without breaking eye contact. “You really have to go?”

“Unfortunately,” Castiel says, “I would rather stay.”

“I’ll take that,” Dean returns, “Stay for breakfast”

“Pancakes?” Castiel suggests, “I hear you think you’re better at cooking them than me.”

“Helps that I don’t burn then.”

“In my defence, you kissed me.”

“That ain't how I remember it,” Dean says.

“I can stay for breakfast,” Castiel agrees, “Given I don’t know where I am going, it would be helpful to charge my phone.”

“How long is the drive?” Dean asks, as he nods towards a charger that’s already plugged in beside the microwave.“Do I need to check your car over before you set off?”

“Is this a mechanic boyfriend privilege?”

“It’s me remembering you know fuck all about cars, but we can call it whatever you want.” Dean says, but he’s offering a downright gooey smile as he addresses him.“That’s my shirt, you know.”

“I had noticed.” 

“Might as well take an ad out in the fucking paper.”

“Excellent idea,” Castiel says, stretching his back out to chase away some of the last tendrils of sleep. Dean tracks the movement very intently. “I should shower.”

“Alright,” Dean says, “I’ll get you a towel and that crap,” Dean says, pulling his gaze away. Castiel watches his retreating back and smiles into his coffee. Losing Dean’s gaze on his skin is like shedding a layer of clothes; it’s a physical presence, which means that Castiel probably isn’t the only one who had alternate plans for their morning 

“Boyfriend, huh?” Sam asks from the sofa, eyebrow raised as he assess him. 

Castiel elects to offer him nothing more than a look of acknowledgement, and uses the time to put his phone on charge and look up the address of the tux shop. He never quite knows how much Dean passes on to Sam Winchester, and isn’t really sure if he violated some code by accidentally telling Sam before Dean had the chance to. He can ask that later. 

Dean kisses him when he hands him a towel, and he tastes like toothpaste and coffee, and this is definitely something that Castiel could get used to.

“You’re adorable, Dean,” Sam says in the moment before he shuts the bathroom door. Castiel can just hear what sounds very much like Dean throwing a pillow at his head before he shuts it with a soft click, which is nice. He’d forgotten what watching Dean and Sam interact was like. .

After he’s showered and redressed ( into Dean’s clothes; his are _somewhere_ ) Castiel puts the new toothbrush Dean left out for him next to Dean’s. It’s very pleasing to see them next to each other, lined up. 

And now he can kiss Dean properly. Curl a hand around the back of his neck to draw him in closer, and kiss him against the kitchen counter with simmering promise of the morning they _could_ have had. 

Sam coughs. He’s moved to one of the seats at the kitchen island, now, which probably means they’ve been talking about last night and their new relationship status. Good. 

“Do you want pancakes or not?” Dean asks pointedly, but he does take a step back and force some distance between them. “Cas. Your phone went off again. Thought it was another alarm, but, uh looks like Gabe called you.”

“Ah,”Castiel says, unplugging it and hitting call to ring Gabriel back as Dean drifts back to the stove and turns up the heat.

“Hey, Bucko.”

“Hello Gabriel.”

“Mom wants to know your ETA,” Gabriel says, even though they both know that Hester really wants to know what happened last night. He’d intended to text them they outcome after the conversation, but he had been far too caught up in Dean to think about that. He doubtless has a very large number of questions. “You about to hit the road?”

“Soon,” Castiel says, weighing the words up as Dean flips over one of his pancakes, shirtless and slightly less relaxed than he had been when he first woke up. There are probably more artful ways to have this conversation, and better times to do it, but he doesn’t really care. “Dean is cooking me breakfast.”

“Breakfast, huh,” Gabriel says. He sounds more resigned than anything else, but that has been Gabriel’s opinion on this for a long time. Perhaps this time he can convince him otherwise. “Pancakes?”

“Yes.”

“Bring me some in a doggy bag.”

“No,” Castiel says, “You eat enough pancakes and I doubt that they would travel well.”

“Hey. Maybe you should invite Dean too, given it looks like he’s going to be your date to the wedding.”

_That_ prospect hasn’t even occurred to Castiel. It’s a strange one. Placing them all in the same room after such a long time is probably going to be uncomfortable but ...good, eventually. Hopefully.

“Must you be like this?”

“You made your bed, Cassie, now you’ve got to lie in it.”

“I very much _want_ to lie in my bed, Gabriel, but instead my morning is being disrupted by this inconvenient tux appointment.”

“It’s not your bed you want to lie in, Cassie.”

“Fine,” Castiel concedes, “It’s Dean’s bed I wish to lie in. Would you like any more details about that?” 

“So, you’re on your way.”

“After breakfast. And with reluctance.”

“Hey, cuz, you wanted to see us in case we were putting you back together. You can’t have your cake and eat it too.”

“Why would I want to have cake that I cannot eat? I would much rather have no cake at all.”

“You’re a smart ass this morning.”

“I am a smart ass every morning, you’re just not normally around to experience it. Tell Hester that I will be on time for the fitting. I’ll see you later.”

“Bring me some pancakes.” 

“I will not be bringing you pancakes,” Castiel deadpans, idly tracing the top of Dean's coffee mug with his forefinger. He doesn't recognize it from the mugs in his possession when Dean first got his pokey apartment, and he supposed that Dean threw all of that away rather than transported them across america. For some reason, that makes him feel vaguely sad. “Goodbye, Gabriel,” Castiel finishes, hanging up to watch Dean serve up pancakes.

And —

Dean is flushed to the tips of his ears, in that achingly lovely way that happens whenever Dean is secretly very pleased about something, and Castiel just looks at him for a little while as he tries to work out why. 

“So, Gabriel's, uh, been updated about us?” Dean says, pushing a plate of pancakes towards him and catching his eye. Sam is watching this interaction too, and Castiel isn’t really sure why. 

“Yes,” Castiel says, “This looks delicious.” 

Dean sends him off with a jar of pancake mix for Gabriel, with a shrugged _‘gotta start winning him over some time’_ , and kisses him for long enough in the doorway that Sam starts pointedly coughing again. He doesn’t have time to check over his engine because Castiel spent far too long quizzing Sam on the classes he’s taking this semester and relishing the fact that Dean usually answers questions about his schedule before Sam has a chance too, and Sam’s fond, bemused look every time Dean answers for him. Dean said they were doing well, but it’s nice to see it. 

It’s not the morning he envisioned, but it’s still excellent. 

*

On the way back, he decides _fuck it_ and takes the ealier turning to pull up outside Dean’s appartment block rather than his own. Part of the reason he _wanted_ for them to be in a relationship is to do something about the insatiable desire to _spend more time together_ and not second guess whether texting and calling and suggesting spontaneous plans are okay , or too much, or giving signals he’s not sure he wants to give off. 

There _are_ things that they still need to talk about. 

“Hello Dean,” Castiel says, when Dean opens the door and raises an eyebrow at him. He cracks open the door enough for Castiel to determine that Sam is no longer there, which is good, and that Dean doesn’t want him to leave.

“Hey,” Dean says, as Castiel sheds his coat and hangs it over the back of one of Dean’s bar stools. “You… I wasn't expecting you.” Dean continues, hands in his pockets as he watches Castiel's progress round his apartment. “Was gonna call you tomorrow.”

“I think I'm exceptionally behind on Doctor Sexy,” Castiel says, turning to face him and finding him much closer than expected. Dean’s gaze tracks over his expression for a few seconds before he seems to hear and understand that words.

“I, okay….” Dean says. He still looks a little wrong-footed and he’s not usually this slow, which means Castiel really did take him by surprise. Next time, he’ll text him from a gas station to let him know his intentions. “Uh, when did you last watch?”

“With you.”

Castiel can’t really remember the last time they watched it, other than it was probably over the phone at some point last year. They did it a lot over those few months. 

Dean _looks_ at him for a few long seconds where Castiel begins to think that his request will be rejected, but then he jerks his head towards the sofa and reaches for the remote.

Doctor Sexy is actually more terrible than he remembers it being, but that really isn’t the point.

Dean's arm is a better place for him to rest his head than the back of the sofa, and Dean shifts to make room for his legs, hand dropping to his thigh like this is the most natural thing in the world, and it is. It is. Dean's leather and engine oil scent, his familiar warmth, the way he always allows himself to be more tactile when he's tired or concentrating on something else. And, then, it's natural for Castiel to reach out and retrace the lines of his clean shaven cheek with his thumb, and to kiss him. Dean is pliant and warm and lovely and shifts to allow Castiel a better angle. He runs his hands over Castiel's back until they settle just above his hips and stay there, safe, and solid and right.

Dean tips them forward without breaking contact which is fine, too, because it puts Castiel closer to his chest, at least until he pulls away to pick up the remote and hit pause.

“M’not explaining the plot to you cause you missed it.” Dean says in response to Castiel's reproachful look, but his voice is that affectionate tone that rarely surfaces and that feels terrifyingly akin to being home.

“Dean,” Castiel says, fingers settling in the fine, delicate hair at the nape of Dean's neck, “There is _no_ plot.”

It's some time before Castiel feels like he's had his fill of directionless physical affection, but then he calls back to curling up against his side.

“You done?” Dean asks, sounding plenty amused and gentle and content and all the things that Dean should sound like, always.

“For now,” Castiel says, sagely.

“Did you come over here ‘cause you wanted to make out?” Dean asks, with a poke to the ribs that shifts seamlessly into an almost-caress. He is endlessly comfortable, right now, and this makes up for this morning being cut short. 

“I,” Castiel begins, “Yes.”

“In that case,” Dean say, tips them sideways so that Castiel’s back is pressed against the sofa, and kisses him again. It's nice to be chest-to-chest; more intimate. Closer and warmer, with all the tension he'd stored in his lower back and shoulders from the drive home bled away into contentment.

Dean kisses him with his whole body. Their toes are touching, forced together by the end of the sofa.

And — yes, he wanted to talk about something. That was the other reason he drove straight back to Dean’s rather than to his own apartment share, because something about Dean’s behaviour started to slot into place while he was being asked for his opinion about tuxedos (as it turns out, he has no opinions about tuxedos).

“You were surprised Gabriel knew we were seeing each other.” Castiel says, as Dean draws back just far enough to half frown at him. “You thought I hadn’t told him, because of last time.”

“Cas,” Dean sighs, and trips over whatever he was about to say enough that he stops entirely and squares his jaw.

“You didn’t ask.”

Dean half sits up, and their content, intimate bubble is burst. 

“Yeah, well, I didn't really wanna think about it, and I definitely didn’t wanna fight about it, and then it turns out now he already knows, so…” Dean trails off, some of the ease falling out of his movements. He’s not quite catching Castiel’s eye, and…. Castiel doesn’t really understand it. 

“I drove there the morning after our apology dinner to discuss it with them.”

Dean looks incredibly relieved by that information, which doesn’t feel like it makes any sense. He almost smiles again, but the expression dissipates before it actually takes root. 

“We spoke about you a lot over Christmas,” Castiel continues, even though he doesn’t really know what he’s trying to justify, or explain. He hadn’t thought about what Dean must have assumed. He hasn’t thought about any of this from Dean’s perspective at all, really. 

“Great,” Dean says, some of the sourness creeping back in. He sits up properly. “I mean,” he corrects himself, “That is great. Really. Awesome.” 

“Why would we fight about it?”

“About what?”

“Dean,” Castiel warns, tilting his head at him. He knows Dean’s diversion tactics and he knows that usually means he’s near a pain point. Dean _not_ wanting to talk about something is generally his biggest giveaway. 

“I,” Dean begins, chewing over the words a little, “Last time, you weren’t exactly keen to talk to them about it.”

“And it upset you,” Castiel says, narrowing his eyes to try and decipher the subtext. “You were _hurt_ when I didn’t speak to them last time and you assumed I would have done the same, and you didn’t want to discuss it because it would upset you and then we would fight, and you were still working on the basis that any fighting should be about things that upset _me_ , not you.” 

“Bingo.”

“I,” Castiel begins, because none of this had occurred to him a year ago. He’d been a little ruffled by how much Dean seemed to be infuriated by it, because it had felt starkly unfair for Dean to steadfastly not _commit_ and then expect Castiel to invite in endless commentary from his family. But… if Dean had insisted on keeping their relationship from Sam, it would have felt… painful. Undermining. Like a different way of refusing to commit. “ I didn’t know it upset you.” 

“Seriously?” Dean asks, and that’s genuine surprise. He wasn’t really thinking about anything from Dean’s perspective last year, either, or any of the things that Hester mentioned. Survival tactics. Of not believing there was a luxury of choice. Dean may be stubborn and infuriating, but sometimes Castiel is just _blind_. 

“I knew it irritated you, I didn’t know it _hurt you_.”

“You missed a step,” Dean says, tapping his fingers against his knee. Agitated. Castiel has managed to burst their happy spell _already_. “Being upset over something like that is goddamn frustrating.”

“I — that’s why you stopped texting me over Christmas. You were trying to be inconspicuous because you thought they didn’t know,” Castiel says, tilting his head as the thought occurs to him. Dean actually _didn’t_ know if Castiel wanted him to text, and broke his radio-quiet only after drinking too much. There were actual reasons for Dean thinking Castiel didn’t want to speak to him, which he then exacerbated with his curt, snappy replies. 

“Cas. Last Christmas you told me not to contact you. You asked me _not_ to call or text you.”

“Oh,” Castiel says, forehead creasing, “So —- you assumed --” “ - You called, I said Sam said hi, and you said your whole family were out.” 

“Because they happened to all be out, Castiel frowns, not because I only called them because they weren’t there.” 

“Yeah, well,” Dean says, “I didn’t know that. Obviously.”

And, Dean contacting him as normal after New Years now makes much more sense. _That’s_ when he told Dean he was back in Palo Alto, and away from his family. 

Castiel is idiotic. Of course Dean would think that. _Of course_ he would assume that nothing had changed in that regard, even though Castiel has learnt to be intentional about speaking to people who love him about what’s going on in life and his head. That hasn’t come up in conversation.

They still have a lot to discuss. 

“So,” Dean says, feigning nonchalance much too hard, “What _do_ they think?”

Castiel had given Gabriel his pancake mix as a greeting, and received a half bemused, half exasperated eye roll in response. It could have been much worse, but by the time Castiel had hit the interstate he’d been daydreaming about Dean and Gabriel falling back into the rhythm of being best friends like nothing had ever happened and the lack of positive response had jerked him back into reality. For the rest of the day he was noticeably quiet about the subject, which Castiel hadn’t experienced since Inais’ heart attack. Gabriel is not _happy_ about it, but is willing to bite his tongue.

Anna had been gushing and asked for a great number of intimate details, which Castiel marked down to wedding madness. Hester just gave him a soft smile, and a hug and said _as long as you’re happy, Castiel_ which could mean anything. His uncle said nothing about it at all. 

“There are mixed reviews,” Castiel says evenly. Dean squares his jaw and stands up to clear his mug off the coffee table and move his laptop. Castiel tracks his movement across the kitchen. “Does it matter?”

“Dunno,” Dean says, “Probably.”

“Why?”

“Don’t take this the wrong way, Cas, but you’re —- you’re easily influenced.” Castiel narrows his eyes slightly, because that sounds like an insult.“You know. You _doubt yourself,_ so you collect opinions about shit like — you chewing me out the first Christmas you were at school like I went out of my way to ruin your life —- and then, in the summer, you say we could be friends and then ditching the continent because Meg said it was a bad idea — “

“ - -it _was_ a bad idea.”

“Cas. I’m not saying that any of that stuff was right or wrong, just that you — you were listening so hard to everyone else. Last year, when you started listening to your friends, that’s when you started distancing yourself.”

_Trying to protect myself,_ Castiel wants to correct, but he lets Dean is still talking. “Asking me not to talk to you over Christmas, cancelling visiting, and then you told your family right at that moment the Lisa crap exploded. What… what did Gabriel say when you told him last year?”

“He already knew,” Castiel says, “He realised I was speaking to you at Christmas.”

“Cas,”

“He said he _hoped_ I was right and that things were different,” Castiel says, and… maybe all those conversations had sewn seeds of doubt about Dean. Maybe if he had never listened to Meg, or Kelly, or Gabriel, then he would have called Dean again from the hospital. It wouldn’t have changed anything, but maybe they would have had the conversation about Lisa face to face. If he’d had more faith _in Dean,_ except —- Dean let him down. Castiel is always so willfully blind to that.

“Cas,” Dean says,” I don’t —- I don’t mean it like it’s a bad thing, exactly. You _should_ listen to shit people say, but it’s just —- It scares me that you might not know what you want. That someone else could change your mind for you.”

“I _told you_ what I want.”

“After conference calling with your whole freaking family.” 

“So it’s an issue if I don’t talk to them and an issue if I do?”

“Yes. No. I’m being a jackass.” 

“Yes,” Castiel agrees, “You are.”

Dean deflates slightly.

“Sorry. I, dammit. Don’t mean to be a total downer, but — I’ve been in my head about all this _all day,_ and —”

“About what?” Castiel asks, a cloying dread beginning to sit in his stomach. Dean has doubts. Dean already has doubts. “Dean.” 

“You suddenly wanting to _date me_ , after everything, like Walt Disney’s wet dream. It’s kind of out of the fucking blue.” 

_Oh_. Dean doesn’t doubt their relationship, he doubts Castiel’s conviction to be in it. That is… both a relief and jarringly bizarre, because no one has ever doubted that Dean Winchester has the capacity to ruin Castiel. 

Except --- Dean thought Castiel hadn’t been sending standoffish, cold messages over Christmas because he was Castiel’s dirty little secret, and now doesn’t know the reason for it at all. Dean doesn’t know about the conversations he’s had with Hester about their relationship when they were teenagers, and Dean doesn’t know that Castiel internal resolve to keep his distance snapped a long time ago. Castiel has been trying to work out how he feels, and Dean has been mostly in the dark about what kind of feelings they were. 

Dean was adamant enough to Sam that nothing was going to happen yet that Sam felt it was safe to show up at Dean’s apartment this morning. He was very, very sure that if anything changed, it would take more time.

“It’s not, Dean, I’ve been thinking about this a lot.”

“Okay,” Dean says, “Well, I wasn’t privy to that process. I’m trying to catch the hell up, trying to do the math in my head in a way that doesn’t equal you taking everything you said back. Should’ve let Sam stay stead of chucking him out, but — _sorry._ Probably just. Need to clear my head. I . _I want_ to get excited about this, Cas, and I was. It’s fucking awesome that you already spoke to Gabriel and Hester, I just, I don’t know. This doesn’t feel like it’s real.”

“Good things do happen, Dean.” Castiel says, staring at him without blinking.

Dean swallows. Subconsciously bites his lip. Looks at him.

“Yeah,” Dean says, voice quiet, “You moved here and didn’t wanna punch me in the face, so I guess I can’t argue that anymore.”

The time for protecting himself against the heartbreak Dean could cause him needs to be done. Dean laid it all out. _Dean Winchester_ who told him through gritted teeth over a thousand miles away that he didn’t say he loved anyone, ever, told Castiel that he was the love of his life with an expectation that Castiel wouldn’t return the words.. _Dean_ has tried very, very hard to make up for the entire saga of their history, and has dropped his guards lower than Castiel ever thought was possible. 

“I did want to punch you in the face,” Castiel says, moving closer, “But I knew if I did that, we could never be something again and _that_ was a hateful concept that outweighed the desire to punch you.”

Dean cracks half a smile at that. It’s slightly bitter, but it’s there. 

“Don’t believe in fate and any of that bull crap, but I do believe if this crazy, shitty, beautiful world spits out a second chance like running into your fucking amazing ex in a coffee shop two blocks away from your home, that you should throw every damn thing you’ve got at it, I just figured —- I dont know — that if you could forgive me, it’d take a lot goddamn more than me saying I wanted to date you.” 

“ _That_ fact has never outweighed all your concerns about us before.”

“That honestly all you ever wanted from me? The desire to fucking commit?”

“Dean.”

“Sorry,” Dean exhales, running a hand over his face, “I’m, fuck, I’m glad you came over, but I’m probably gonna be pretty shitty company so, maybe we should talk about this tomorrow.”

“What are you going to do?”

“I don’t know,” Dean says, “Watch a crappy action flix, order a fuck load of pizza and drink couple too many beers.” Castiel raises an eyebrow at him. “What? I may be doing a helluva lot better than I was just about ever, never claimed I was goddamn well adjusted.”

“Dean, that sounds like every twenty something I know,” Castiel says, “It also sounds like something you could do with company, if you want.” 

“You wanna stay?” Dean says, forehead creasing, “I’m not gonna be a lot of fun.” 

“My roommate is writing his thesis on the chemical properties of pigments that could be used in commercial paint,” Castiel says, “He has literally spent the last year of his life _watching paint dry._ He has returned after Christmas and wants to tell me the “exciting developments” in his research.”

“Huh,” Dean says.

“ _And_ I have spent the day being forced to try on sixteen different tuxedos that all look exactly the same,” Castiel says, “And being asked numerous questions about our relationship. And I am mostly to blame for you beginning to doubt yourself given how little I have said about what I’m thinking for the past two months, _and_ you are inexplicably fascinating to me to the point that I cannot imagine spending time with you being dull.”

“Gonna get a copy of his paint thesis and read it to you.” 

“You underestimate how much I can wax internal poetics about your voice, Dean.”

“Fuck. Forget how you compliment me like your regurgitating a goddamn dictionary. Why is that hot?” “It’s our profound bond,” Castiel comments, “And you have a librarian kink.”

“True,” Dean says, and that’s almost a smile, “Okay. Stay. Let’s hang out.”

In the end, Dean puts on a very bad movie that Castiel thinks is the fifth or sixth installment of a series about things being fast and very angry. It’s one of those movies that Dean knows most of the words to and has a lot of opinions about, and spends so much time trying to explain the content of the last however many movies and the next ones that it’s almost impossible to follow the plot (if there is one; Castiel has a number of doubts). Dean disappears to order pizza and shows back up wearing the sweatpants he wore in the photo Sam took after him flying, and half throws himself back onto the sofa.

“What did I miss?”

“That man just flexed his bicep out of a cast,” Castiel says, “And… stole an ambulance.”

“Cas, I told you, don’t think too hard,” Dean says, rearranging Castiel’s legs over his lap to give himself more room, “This, right here, is the greatest goddamn moment in cinematic history.”

“You said that about four out of six Star Wars movies we watched together,” Castiel says, as Dean hits pause and rewinds back the point that he left the room at. “These look even better in person.”

“Huh,” Dean says, a pleased flush creeping up his neck, “Forgot you were into these. _Right here_ , Cas, best line in an action movie ever.” Dean says, bright and excited and achingly endearing as he leans forward for the line, and slaps his other hand against the arm of the sofa to emphasises the words. It’s hard not to have fun watching Dean be this ridiculous and derive so much joy from something so simple. He has always admired that about Dean; that he is complex, and there are dark places in his head that he falls into, but he always finds moments of happiness in movies and burgers and beer. His bad mood seems to have mostly dissipated. “We need to watch all nine.”

“There are _nine_ of these?” Castiel asks, “Why?”

“Uh, cause they’re awesome,” Dean says, “You’re gonna love them. You just gotta —-“

“ — stop thinking so hard,” Castiel supplies, “Yes, I’m just concerned about his medical bills.”

“He’s the Rock, he’ll have killer insurance,” Dean says.

“Wait. He’s “The Rock”. Is that an honorary position?”

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” Dean says, “Do you live under a rock?”

“A rock or _the_ rock?”

“That’s his name, smart ass.”

“In the movie?”

“In real freaking life,”

“Oh,” Castiel says, “That’s… unusual.”

“Says _Castiel_ ,” Dean says, squeezing his knee to temper the words, “He used to be a wrestler.” 

“I don’t understand wrestling.”

“Breaking my fucking heart, Cas.”

“Apologies. I’ll stop talking through the movie.”

“Nah,” Dean says, “Most of the reason I picked it is cause I knew you’d be confused as hell. I’ve missed watching crap with you.”

“Me too,” Castiel says, “Dean, I’m having a very good time.” 

“Yeah,” Dean grins, “Okay, Cas, you gotta see this...” Dean continues, and then proceeds to talk through the next ten solid minutes of the movie so that Castiel couldn’t really pay attention if he wanted to, but it is exactly what he wanted when he took this turning.

The pizza arrives part way through the second movie, which may in fact be the second installment (Dean decided that if they were watching all of them, which apparently they are, they should start with the worst one and work there way up rather than tackling them chronologically), and Dean concedes to letting Castiel pay in the basis that Dean cooked dinner and breakfast. Castiel has already claimed his first slice when Dean returns with beers.

“Stole the best slice, jackass,” Dean says, nudging him his knee and stealing a piece of pepperoni from Castiel’s slice of pizza. “Forget you don’t eat that rabbit food pizza like Sammy does.” Dean says, which at least explains why Dean ordered what looks like a combination of a meat lovers and a vegetarian special: habit. 

“I am deeply offended.”

“First off, you like spinach and second off, we haven’t actually shared a pizza for like five years.” 

“True,” Castiel concedes, “This isn’t going to be a problem going forward.”

“I’ll drink to that,” Dean says, cracking open two beers and passing one to Castiel. “Thanks for staying.” 

“Dean,” Castiel smiles, “This is perfect.” 

“Then this is gonna go just fine, ‘cause this I can do,” Dean says, and turns the movie back on, this time with an arm flung over the back of Castiel’s side of the sofa. 

They’re in the midst of a post pizza movie break when Gabriel sends him a photo of the pancakes he made with Dean’s mix. 

“They were a hit,” Castiel says, tilting his phone on Dean’s direction. He’s back to using Dean’s arm as a pillow, but they haven’t kissed since Dean’s admission that he’s been in his head about everything since Castiel left his apartment. Castiel is beginning to make attempts to combat Dean’s insecurity by actually verbalising some of the things in his head, which is turning out to be much easier than repressing them. It all feels much more like their very early relationship than it has for years.

“There any pictures of you looking smoking in this tux, then?”

“Yes,” Castiel says, scrolling through the pictures Anna sent to the family group chat. It’s all of them, but Dean takes it and zooms in on Castiel with the arm that had been draped over his shoulders.

“So is this thing rented or bought? Cause I’m gonna need the live version after this wedding shindig, so if it’s rented you’re gonna need a few more days.”

“You’re invited to the wedding, Dean,” Castiel says, even though he didn’t intend to bring this up yet. It felt too soon, but then… He has every intention of bringing Dean to the wedding. He hadn’t been intending to mention it yet to keep some of his cards close to his chest, but Dean deserves to rest easy in this. He needs Dean to believe it. He needs Dean to believe that he is _serious_ about this.

“What?”

“I get a plus one,” Castiel says, “It will be awful, because Anna is going full family affair and has invited my father, _and_ Jimmy, Amelia and Claire, despite my pointing out that it will be a disaster, and you will have to tolerate Gabriel at a wedding, but Anna already extended the invitation and has added you to the seating plan. I should thank you, because it means I get my own room in the hotel rather than having to share with Gabriel,” Castiel continues, pausing to take in Dean’s expression, “If you’re busy, then...”

“Shut up a minute,” Dean says, “I’m, uh. I’m your wedding date?”

“You’re my _boyfriend._ This usually entails family obligations such as weddings,” Castiel says, and then he’s treated to a stark memory of Dean telling him _after_ their damnable prom that he’d gotten a ticket after all and hadn’t used it. “And proms actually, so if you don’t _want to_ then…”

“No, I wanna go,” Dean says, “I mean, it does sound pretty awful.” 

“Practically guaranteed.” 

“But I wanna go. With you. Meet your Dad.”

“If he deigns to show up. He has yet to RSVP. I need to get Hester to speak with him.”

“And your brother,” Dean says, “Win your folks back round. Do something about Gabriel.” 

“Gabriel’s just bitter because he misses,” Castiel says, “He will come round when he realises that you are sticking around.” 

“You’re _serious_ about this,” Dean says, slow, warmth beginning to radiate from his words, “This isn’t just, I dunno, some elaborate punked sketch. Or. you saying whatever the hell you can think of to get your rocks off -”

“- what?” Castiel interjects, frowning, “Dean, if I wanted to get laid, I am sure that are much less complicated ways to go about it.”

“I, maybe,” Dean says, “Kind of lost my head.”

“Dean,” Castiel says, “I wouldn’t do any of those things to you.”

“I _know_ that, Cas, you haven’t got a malicious bone in your fucking body, I just -- thinking too hard.”

“I prescribe Fast and Angry.”

“It’s Fast and Furious, you dork,” Dean grins, the wide, brilliant smile that lights up his whole being. The kind of smile that makes it impossible to imagine that he’d ever _struggled_ or _lost_. “You’re awesome. You’re fucking awesome, and I, I fucking love you.”

“I know,” Castiel says sagely, twisting their hands together, “Although I will confess that I _do_ know who The Rock is.” 

Dean’s smile widens at that. He looks carefree and _radiant_ like this, and he looks at Castiel like Castiel is a precious, wonderful person, and he’s moved closer somehow. 

“Jackass,” Dean says. The word sounds like a pet name from Dean. Affectionate. 

“You say the sweetest things,” Castiel says, and then Dean kisses him, hard, and Castiel winds up tipping over both of their beers over trying to crawl into Dean’s lap, and neither of them care, and they never get round to starting the next movie.

In the end, Castiel stays until late Sunday evening. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> how much longer will this story be, you say? Who is to say.  
> WHO COULD POSSIBLE KNOW
> 
> ( I don't. I had a plan. I don't know where I put it but, here, have some fluff and then some mild angst and then some more fluff while I try and remember where we're going)

**Author's Note:**

> SO. I know that the last installment isn't finished, but I've had this written for about six months and I've decided to combat my writer's block for this story but just committing to writing it out of order and posting this now. I know, I'm a maverick (/I wrote most of one of my main series out of order because I didn't intend to add extra bits in and that really helped, so why not). But, hey, it's fanfic, which means you get to write excessively long sagas about on-off relationships if you want to. Break zee rules. LIVE dangerously. 
> 
> This SHOULD be the last part of this 'short story - ten chapters max' monster of a thing :)


End file.
